Falling in Love in NYC
by Shotgunsinlace
Summary: The Briton had only intended to dance the night away after another hectic day in his miserable life; he just wasn't expecting to meet the young lad who would forever change said measly existence. For better or for worse. AU. Mainly USxUK & some FrUK.
1. Chapter 1

_Falling in Love in New York City_

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CHAPTER 1

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The city that never sleeps was called that way for a reason. Even as glistening rain drops, nearly indiscernible against the bright city lights, weren't enough to dampen the hustle and bustle of the people rushing back and forth like ants on candy. The incessant and blaring honking of horns as yellow taxis zoomed by, the blur of different styles and colours of clothing as people rushed across the crowded sidewalks, the daftly bright neon signs that were so particularly Time Square … it was all _home_. It was that iconic scenery that made New York City, _New York City_. Rowdy laughter rang out from all four corners of the busy avenue, as small clumps of friends chatted animatedly over random occurrences of their everyday life.

It was your typical American Saturday night. Living life as a night owl; the time where suits were traded in for trendy clothing of the latest and priciest styles. Designer trades; mini-dresses, sequin halters, high heels. Button-downs, snakeskin boots, bright colored hoodies, trendy sneakers. You name it, you'll find it. Cell phones sang as iPods blared just as loudly as the music that seeped through the nightclubs doors. Every single sound drowned out into one single song that was a blissful symphony to oh so many people. _This_ was what he lived for. Freedom, life, happiness and a damn good time.

"… So I told her. Right in her face. No one and I mean no one, cramps my style." A voice rang above the rest, smooth and charming in a teenage sort of way. A head of blonde hair melted into the crowd easily as he walked down the avenue, gesturing his hands around rather wildly in order to prove a point to his friends. "I mean, chick was getting all up on my personal space, man!"

"Dude, isn't that what girlfriends are for? There's _supposed_ to be stalking you until you snap. It's when they say that they want you to meet their parents that you better run." One of the older teens, the one with silver hair, popped a cigarette into his mouth and fetched for a lighter in his jean's pocket. "But whatever. If she's up for grabs, I'd totally tap that."

"You can have her, straight up."

"Al, she's your third girl this month. And it's only the twelfth. People gonna start talking, _mein freund_."

"Fuck them. They're not the ones dealing with a psychotic bitch. I mean, chick pulled a knife on me when I was talking on the phone with my _grandma_. Apparently she thought I was cheating on her."

"With an eighty-year-old lady. Point proven. I pity you, man."

"Gee, thanks for your help, Gilbert. If you ever find me castrated, you know what happened."

Two out of three in the group laughed at that, high-fiving just for the hell of it. The blonde, Alfred, turned his aqua eyes towards their more reserved companion for the evening and furrowed his eyebrows quizzically. "Why so quiet, Kiku? You're totally throwing the mood off there."

Dark pools looked up at the over-exuberant kid peering down at him, the city lights reflecting off his glasses, adding to his boyish charm. Kiku waved him off with an uncertain smile, hurrying his stride just a bit in order to keep up with the two taller males. "Ah, it's nothing, Alfred-san. It's just… it reminds me an awful lot of home." The small Asian teen then smiled a bit more honestly, shifting his head to gesture their current surroundings. Mood killer didn't even begin to describe.

"Huh, really? We should totally fly to Japan one of these days! Meet the parents! And check out that drink you guys love so much." Alfred beamed. Leave it up to him to take nostalgia and shift it into some sort of adventure.

"Drink?"

"Yeah, the one made out of… rice? I _think_ its rice."

"Sake?"

"_That_! Bet it tastes awesome." The blonde shoved his hands in his jacket pocket, turning his head skyward, letting the light drizzle splatter against his wire-framed glasses. "Maybe pick up some of that high-tech stuff you guys have. What do ya' think, Gilbo?"

"You wanna sincerely know what I think? I think that you're being completely gay."

The rubber beneath Alfred's sneakers squeaked as he halted to a stop; several people bumping into him as the rush continued to zoom by him. He gawked at his friend, who in turn puffed out a large cloud of smoke accompanied by a laugh. "'The fuck's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Dude. _Meet the parents_? _Kiku's_? That sounded beyond wrong." Gilbert snickered at the dignified huff Alfred let out as he rushed past him, making sure he shoved his shoulder as he did. "Aww, struck a nerve? Would explain why the hell you keep dumping all those chicks."

"Will you cut it out, you dick? I was trying to be friendly!" The blonde eventually slowed down, pouting the rest of the way. "I don't question my sexuality."

"Never said you did."

"Dick."

"Pussy."

"Eto…" Kiku interjected then, tapping both his friends' shoulders as the red on his face turned a few shades darker. "Could you please… cut down on the insults? There are an awful lot of people here…"

"Who the hell cares?"

"Come on, man. He's Japanese. You know how they all worry about looking good and polite in front of other people; for business and stuff."

Stereotypical comment was stereotypical. The brunette couldn't help but roll his eyes at that. The night was young, but he was sure it was going to be a long one. A very, _very_ long one.

The next few moments were spent with friendly banters and Gilbert incessantly questioning Alfred's orientation. It was times like these that Alfred asked himself just how the hell he gets stuck with such jerks. Or _jerk_, better said. Kiku was just too quiet and too much of a pushover; so he didn't really consider him a jerk. Except for whenever he showed off during math. Now Gilbert, he had enough spunk for the both of them and that tended to get annoying ninety percent of the time.

All in all, they were an odd group to come by. An American model-in-the-making, a German musician-to-be and a Japanese computer-graphics-student. The only thing they had in common was the fact that they were all students at some pricey art academy in upstate New York. Other than that, they were complete opposites in every sense of the word.

Alfred F. Jones, hero-wannabe and NYC's Golden-Boy. Between his shock of golden hair and the smoothness of his sky blue eyes, it was hard to say what enraptured strangers first. His charisma was enough to win any heart he wanted with the batting of his exaggeratedly long lashes only. With a flash of pearly whites, he was the incarnation of the All American Dream. And in all honesty, that was one of the main reasons why Gilbert had decided to hang out with him when he had first transferred. If it weren't for Alfred constantly blabbering about _how hot that random chick is_, he would have jumped him long ago. But then again, who didn't Gilbert want to jump?

The German exchange student was nothing but trouble. Hence the instant attraction from Alfred. Besides the point that the blonde continuously pointed out how much model material he was. One thing was for sure, he stuck out like a sore thumb. It wasn't everyday you would see some punk in torn jeans sporting unruly silver hair and nearly crimson eyes. Attention whores the lot of them, for the exception of the third and last member of the trio.

Kiku Honda was quiet, reserved, intelligent and normal. Jones and Beilschmidt had practically dragged him out of his apartment while half way through a project due that coming Monday. He wasn't too ecstatic about the whole idea, but he had barely gone out since his arrival from his homeland, so he decided to humor them for the night. So far, it was chaos. The two of them were nothing but a bunch of brainless loudmouths obsessed about their looks and hell-bent on getting wasted. But they were perhaps his only friends on that unknown American soil. Instead, Kiku would only smile and indulge them in their mad missions. What doesn't kill him makes him stronger. And he was really praying he would survive the night.

"Am I the only one that's starving here?"

"I'm sure you are. Then again, when aren't you?"

"You're really in one of your moods, aren't you?"

"Nah, I just like fucking with you." The German continued talking when the blonde opened his mouth in order to bite back. "Let's just grab something to eat at the club."

Kiku nodded at them. "True. It's fairly late already; if we waste anymore time we won't be able to get in."

"Whoa. Thought you didn't want to go."

"If I've gotten dragged so far, then I might as well resign myself. Let's just get this over and done with, hai?"

"Alright! Now that's the spirit, man!" Alfred held his hand up for a high-five; Kiku only looked at it. "Um, right. We should totally hurry up and stuff."

"Idiot."

"Asshole. Stop blowing smoke in my face! You're killing me here."

"Sissy." Gilbert muttered, putting out the cigarette and glaring at the blonde walking beside him. "Just a few more blocks till' we get there."

"Sweet! Think there'll be any cute foreign girls there?"

"It's America. You get foreigners in your oatmeal." Crimson eyes shifted in annoyance. Alfred really was your typical blonde; clueless and stupid. All looks and no brains.

"That's true, actually. Cause we're awesome that way! Kind of makes you feel patriotic, and stuff, right?"

Silence.

"We're not even American…"

"Ah! We're here!"

"Thank goodness." The brunette said with a sigh as he gazed onto the apparently exclusive nightclub. The music that boomed out whenever the tough-looking bouncer opened the door to let someone in gave him a headache just thinking about it. How people enjoyed such rowdy atmospheres was amazing. Westerners sure were strange.

"Alfred… what time is it?"

"One in the fucking morning."

"Why the fuck are we still out here?"

"Will you two please stop dropping that word around to carelessly? Thank you."

Alfred paced back and forth as they continued to wait on the line that was apparently not moving at all. Three hours had ticked by, and if they had taken two steps forward was an overstatement. The rest of the crowd around them was perhaps just as moody as them, waiting out in a cold October night. He knew the club was pathetically exclusive, but he didn't expect it to be to this extent. His toes had already gone numb.

"I'm starting to think we should bail, Al. We're never gonna get in before the sun rises." Fetching another cigarette, Gilbo popped it between his lips.

"No way! I've been out here, in the cold, for hours! I _better_ get in that club or someone is going to end up hearing my mouth."

"You mean, more than usual?"

"Fuck you."

"Look, the one across the street doesn't look that full. Plus, the line's actually moving. We might be able to catch some tunes before getting our asses kicked out." He tried to reason with the blonde, but his stubbornness was beginning to shine through.

"If I _wanted_ to go to that club, I'd be on _that_ line."

"Dude! It's all the same shit! Get a few swigs, bump and grind with some random stranger, get her laid and that's that." His patience was being tried. And an angry German wasn't a pleasant sight to behold after a long night. Alfred considered it though, casting side glances at the joint across the crowded street. Maybe it _was_ all the same crap.

"Hm. I dunno…"

"Can we please, Alfred-san? My feet are rather tired." Kiku complained nearly inaudibly as he toyed around with his phone.

"Maybe. Maybe… no. No. I'm staying here! Case closed. If you two wanna go, then go ahead. I'm getting into this one even if I lose my toes in the process!" Gilbert groaned as he smacked his head against the brick wall he was leaning against.

"Fine! Make me waste my awesome time!"

It would be another two hours before they finally set foot inside the raging place. And when they did, Kiku instantly swore to himself that before the night ended, he'd suffer from a large scale of seizures.

The music screamed in their ears, the heavy bass and intense trance making them sway along to the rhythm subconsciously. So many bright lights swirled and flickered with the same intensity as the Time Square signs; nearly maddening in their array of colors as they swiveled across the walls, floor and the mass of people all moving along to the beat at the center of the dance floor. The smell of sweat, alcohol and perfume was heavy on the senses, but not very unpleasant. It was actually fitting, in an overwhelming sort of way.

Kiku glanced to his side and felt panic starting to settle in. Both of his friends had vanished from sight.

"… _Kuso_."

The intensity of the music was like a drug, clouding his mind and beckoning him to sway along in the most intoxicated of fashions. The perspiration that ran down the back of his neck went unnoticed as he jumped along with the rest of the crowd like a pulse, all in unison, in one single beat, in one single high. He threw his hands above his head, riding out the sudden new wave of more upbeat music; shutting his eyes and losing himself after a long week of studying and fretting over tests. It was a getaway that he strived for, and now he had it.

Alfred was brought back to reality, however, when someone nudged his side. Some Asian girl winked at him, and an automatic grin spread across his charming features. _Bingo_. He turned to face her fully, and in just a matter of moments, they were moving together, not too close, but invading each others' personal space. She eyed him through the rest of the dance, but his interest was quickly fading. It was almost too easy. For the following three songs, a few more dancers approached him, and he only smiled and graced them with a dance but none of them significantly caught his eye.

As he moved across the floor, he searched for both Gilbert and Kiku, but had no success. The crowd was too thick to really distinguish anyone. Perhaps he should have listened to his German friend and gone to that other club across the street. The music and atmosphere were good, but the people were just downright boring. The girls were being too easy, and the guys were just… guys. Alfred wasn't interested at all. But when he reached a certain corner of the floor, his eyes caught sight of something that made him change his mind.

A blonde man danced flawlessly between another guy and a girl in a way that resembled some kind of low budget, clothed porn movie. He looked frankly older than the rest of the kids in the club, but the way he moved made up for that little fault. He could put any professional dancer to shame with the way he didn't even miss the slightest beat. A knee slid between the girl's thighs as she pressed closer to him, the man behind him moved in as well, chaffing their lower regions together in a way so explicit it was vulgar. The sultry rhythm of the current song wasn't really helping the situation either.

Alfred's dancing had slowed to the point where he was just swaying casually to the music; he was too busy staring at the tantalizing blonde. But he was shaken back to reality when the man turned his sights to him, revealing eyes too dark to discern their color due to the lighting, but the gaze pinned him down nonetheless. The mysterious man threw his head back with a drowned laugh and Alfred was about ready to approach him when a large group of people suddenly passed between them, all laughing and clumping together as they danced on by. He cursed aloud but he was sure no one could hear him, and once the group had dissipated, only two of the initial three were left dancing together. The man was gone like he had been some kind of mirage.

"Shit." Blue eyes scanned the surrounding area, and there he caught him again. The retreating form was making its way to the bar, and conveniently enough, Alfred was reminded of his hunger a little earlier. Time for a break. Rushing through the crowd, the young America reached the bar and plopped himself down a few stools away from the stranger. He ordered a drink, and by the time Alfred was done, the blonde dancer had downed six shots and a dry martini. Talk about a heavy drinker.

"This one's from the young man five stools down." The bartender informed with amusement as he set another shot glass in front of the older blonde who only looked up at him quizzically. With a shrug, the man swallowed his drink in one shot, and didn't even bother looking in the direction where the supposed the 'young man' was sitting at. He wasn't interested.

He had come to drown away his issues; forget about love, lust and everything else tangled with those terms. Along with work. He wasn't in the mood to put up with some random arsehole who found him good looking enough for a quick shag. Drink, dance and forget. That was why he was there in the first place. To silence those annoying demons that whispered into his ears words of solitude and loneliness. The song that boomed in the background wasn't improving his sudden moodiness, the reason why he retired from the dance floor for the time being. The last thing he needed was some guy singing about _standing alone tonight_. _Alone tonight just like the western star I'm sinking… the angels curse me by with straight and crooked thinking…_

He really wished the song would finish already.

"Hey there!" The blonde twitched in his reverie, glaring at the glass in his hand when some random voice interrupted him. "What's up?" He still refused to answer, much less deign the man worthy of a glance. After a few awkward seconds, the man, or kid, better said, spoke up again. "You look like you need some company."

The older blonde snorted at that and asked for another drink. "This isn't a gay bar."

"Don't get me wrong man! Just meant it as a drinking buddy. Mind if I sit here?" No answer; he sat down anyway. Alfred asked for another drink himself and slowly drank it down while admiring the vast amount of shot glasses in front of the man beside him. Guy must have been hell-bent on getting wasted; but unlike Gilbert and him, the man looked tired in more ways than one. "Rough day?"

"Mm-hm." Still, not even a glance. It shouldn't have had bothered Alfred that much, he was used to being ignored by the snobbier more sophisticated types. But at the moment, he really, _really_ wanted to catch a glimpse of his face up close. If only just for a second.

"Got dumped?"

"Mm-hm."

"Ah. Well, if it helps, I broke up with my girl too, this morning and stuff. Kind of sucks, you know?"

"Mm-hm."

"Anyways! The names Jones! Alfred Jones."

"Mm-hm."

"What's yours, stranger?"

"Mm-hm."

Alfred frowned then. Asshole wasn't even listening to him. "Mind if I get in your pants tonight?"

"Mm-h—" The blonde choked on his drink and turned vicious… _green_ eyes towards the smirking American. The glared faltered a bit when he finally got a glimpse at his sudden stalker and hummed in appreciation. Surprise, surprise. Boy wasn't half that bad looking. Half his age, yes, but easy on the eyes.

Alfred too was momentarily stunned. The guy was absolutely _gorgeous_. Well, for the exception of those fuzzy eyebrows, but heck, even after a few minutes of gawking, even those started to look good. The awkward silence continued until the song finally changed to a livelier one, and the green eyed beauty finally took his cue.

Spinning on his stool, he slapped a healthy amount of bills onto the counter for his drinks and took off into the dance floor again, disappearing into the jumping mass of sweaty and heated bodies. Alfred was about to do the same when a hand grabbed a tight hold of his wrist. The bartender raised an eyebrow. "Ah, right, sorry about that." The American fished for his wallet and spilled two twenties, but after the guy behind the counter refused to let him go, he leaned in.

"Aim for another one, kid. This guy's broken more hearts than you've broken pencils in elementary school. Warning you."

Alfred flashed him an award winning smile and shrugged. "Not interested in that kind of way. But thanks for the heads up, man. Keep the change." And with the same enthusiasm he did everything with, the American ran headfirst into the crowd without thinking.

The bartender rolled his eyes. Kid had balls, that much was true if he was gonna jump in and aim for the prize, even if he claimed he wasn't interested. But if there was one thing the so called 'gentleman' at his bar was known for, was for the astonishing ability of turning even the straightest of guys gay.

The American tried to boogie his way across the floor, blue eyes scanning the area for the fuzzy-browed blonde. He hadn't acted that repulsed back at the bar, so, maybe he wouldn't turn him down for a dance. Though he was rather shocked himself at the fact that he wanted to dance with another guy. Then again, he had come for some excitement, for a challenge. And damn it all, he had found it. Over head, Alfred heard the DJ say something about the current song being the last one of the night, or morning, so they had better make it unforgettable.

That was exactly what he planned to do.

When he finally caught a glimpse of the stranger, he was dancing with some girl, his back towards the American. And by God, the back view was just as nice as the front one. The way he swayed his hips back and forth with a slight twirl made every girl in the room shy away in shame. It was then that Alfred felt the need to pull him close.

Green eyes turned to him when he spun around in place and stopped, staring at the young man who looked utterly smitten. This guy wasn't giving up was he? _What an annoying, yet flattering, git._ The stranger walked towards him, taking each step to the rhythm, a smug smirk pulling away at his lips. Alfred's breath hitched as the smaller male pressed flush against him, leaning up to whisper into his ear. "What are you waiting for? Aren't you going to ask me to dance with you? Or are you afraid you won't be able to handle me?"

Something had to be wrong with him. There was no way any straight man could get turned on by those words… but maybe it was the way the stranger began to chafe against his hips that made fire race right beneath his waistline. Again, this was nothing for a _straight_ man to fuss about. He should have felt repulsed, disgusted and annoyed… but instead he began to sway his hips along with Mr. Fuzzy-brows.

Insanity couldn't begin to describe.

The older male, though shorter, fit perfectly against Alfred's taller and better built frame; making every little juncture and crevice fall into place as they rocked their bodies back and forth like one single being. A knee slid between the stranger's legs, pressing up unintentionally. He tried his best to pass his groan as a laugh, but it didn't matter anyway, the music was too loud for it to have been heard. Alfred bent his knees a bit in order to grind a little better against his dance partner, the older blonde answered by pressing himself closer still. Their chests rubbed against each others', rustling their shirts in the process and ridding up a bit in order to expose a tad bit of milky and slick flesh which Alfred itched to touch, but decided against it.

It was a bit unexpected when the stranger threaded their fingers together, raised their hands above their heads and took advantage of the momentum, pulling away for a moment in order to twist in his partner's grasp and press himself back again, back to chest. The way he moved was unbelievable; slow, sensual and proud. Like some kind of well-dressed exotic dancer, Alfred thought. Maybe he was one, for all he knew, but damn, the way his rear grinded against his crotch was driving him mad with… with… he didn't even know what. But he refused to stop. Refused to let go of those shocks of electricity that coursed through him whenever the man before him jerked his hips back and up in constant fluid motions.

The older blonde tilted his head back, resting it just below Alfred's shoulders and flashed the full force of his entrancing eyes, heavily lidded with something the American couldn't quite read. Or he could, but he was still in denial. In denial that he was getting off on rubbing against someone of the same sex. Gilbert would never live it down if he found out.

As for the man doing most of the dancing, he grinned, happy of the fact that even at his age, he'd be able to stir up a young and handsome bloke like the one poking at his arse with an obvious arousal. While they danced together, he assessed him. Smartly dressed in what youth considered style nowadays, his lack of proper English use stamped _American_ all over his face, the way he so boldly approached him assured him that he was a hit with whomever he wished to pick up… A jock, maybe. Or some spoiled rich kid out on daddy's car to have a good time. He was mostly leaning towards the latter. But hell, he didn't care. It had been a while since he'd been hit on by such a nice face. The kid exuded inexperience; a virgin most likely.

He had gestured the young lad to move with him as he dipped down low, dragging him along for the crude move before dragging him up again with his rump, bumping into him in one smooth movement. It was downright sexy and Alfred was sure that if any more of that blissful torture continued, he was gonna end up humping the smaller body. But before the American could do as much as pull him closer, the song came to an unfortunate end.

The roar of cheers and applauses startled the heated couple and they immediately broke away when the lights suddenly came on. _4 a.m._ Before Alfred could even catch his breath to muster a word, the man slipped a card into his hand and made quickly towards the exit, instantly disappearing into the wasted crowd. "Wha- Hey!" He hadn't even gotten his name… but that didn't stop him from grinning like a moron. That was perhaps _the hottest_ dance he had ever had with anyone. Twisting the card between his fingers his mind finally caught up with him. "Oh!"

If possible, his grin widened tenfold. Alfred F. Jones was left standing with a hard-on and the business card of one _'Arthur Kirkland'_. With a chuckle, he pocketed the card which conveniently had his office number printed on it.

Besides that, Alfred repeated the lyrics of that last song incessantly within his head. He absolutely had to download it as soon as possible; because the words '_sexy bitch'_ were a complete and utter understatement.

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_To be Continued._

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_A/N: And there goes my first multi/chaptered fic of the fandom. Finally posted it after much debating and I honestly hope it doesn't disappoint._

_Reviews are always appreciated!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Falling in Love in New York City_

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CHAPTER 2

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Humans were such contradictory things. One moment, they hated a freezing room; and they also hated a hot bed. Then another moment, they liked a cold but not freezing bed and a below-zero-temperature room in order for the semi-cold bed to keep them warm but cool at the same time. … He was getting a headache just thinking about it. In fact, why was he thinking about such an inane thing at five o'clock in the bloody morning on a Sunday? Instead, he should be relishing and melting into the soft cotton of his bedspread pressing against his silk pajamas, happily tucked underneath a thick comforter. His room was freezing, having been too wasted to actually raise the temperature on the a/c unite of his humble apartment.

The moment he had walked in he stumbled clumsily into his bathroom, cranked up the shower with warm water in order to take care of his little 'problem', stumbled out and half tripped, half slid into his silk nightclothes. Not even bothering to wash his mouth, the blonde dove right into bed, snuggled beneath the sheets on his belly and spread himself out in form of an X. He plopped his tired and fuzzy head against one of his many, Indian-feather stuffed, pillows and released a long and exhausted, yet pleased, sigh.

There wasn't a muscle in Arthur's body that didn't ache. His back screamed at him, his head banged, his calves were cramped up… He felt pathetic. Not to mention old. Partying hard was beginning to take a toll on him and he sighed in defeat at the thought. He didn't want to be just another old man sitting in a loner's bar with a bunch of depressing blokes; he much preferred drinking his nights away while actually attempting to have a good time. Arthur refused to come to terms with the fact that he would waste away behind a desk, signing forms and forever sexually harassed by his boss, being constantly reminded of his beautiful ex-wife as he smacked himself repeatedly against the top of his desk having had tapped into some social network and seeing her rubbing off against some trash instead of doing his work.

He really needed to stop thinking.

He wasn't about to just let a perfectly good night getting wasted go to… well, waste. He would sleep now and hopefully wake up not remembering a thing. Not remembering his boss, not remembering his wife, not remembering… remembering… _gorgeous and vibrant blue eyes… Strong hands that so boldly caressed his body as they bumped and grinded on the dance floor… The impressive strength that given the right experience could snap him in half…_ Green eyes snapped open.

Stupid American booze. Didn't even do its job right. Maybe if he bashed his head against the wall, he would get knocked out. Thus ending that little _too much thinking_ problem of his.

Honestly. That Alfred character was just a kid. _Easily half his age_. Besides, it wasn't like he'd ever see him again… he was sure of it. He had danced with so many people in his lifetime, think he remembered less than half of them? Not in the slightest. Club nights usually were nothing but a blur once the morning came, and that particular night would be no different. Or so he hoped so.

Arthur couldn't help but smile to himself, though. It had been so long since someone had shown such an honest interest in him. His boss excluded. The boy seemed so enthusiastic, so curious and enraptured that it flattered him deeply. How could he deny him a chance to dance with him? With eyes so wide and gleaming like priceless sapphires, it was impossible. In summary, Jones had made his night. Didn't make him feel like some old man losing his edge; past his prime. He had made him feel young and lusted for, _wanted_ even. And those were thoughts that actually placed a smile on his face. With one final and exhausted sigh, Kirkland allowed his eyes to slip shut.

And with fantasies of being held in strong arms… a soft kiss pressed onto his temple in a soothing gesture… gazing into two large blotches of blue sky, the blonde slipped into a restful slumber at long last. The solitude in his large home not as imposing as it usually was… as the British gentleman eventually began to crush on the exuberant American boy he had met just a few hours ago…

'_Is this the NPMA, or is this the UDA, or is this the IRA, and I thought it was the UK! Or just~ another~ country~'_

A grumble rose from underneath the heavy covers. Never had he hated the Sex Pistols like he did at that very moment. Of course, the stupidity was entirely his fault for not having shut his phone off earlier that morning. What seemed to be a disembodied hand struck out from the bed, blindly rummaging through the night table in search for the loudly ringing nuisance. His head… his poorly aching head.

'_I want to be~ anarchist! I'm getting pissed!'_

"Oh fucking… bullocks." Arthur slammed the sheets down furiously, his head swaying as the full force of the hangover struck him mercilessly. He let out another string of obscenities when he finally found the offending item, blaring so loudly against the walls and ramming into his brain like a ton of bricks. Who in their bleeding minds would call him at… noon. Huh.

Adjusting his eyes and wincing a bit at the brightness of the LCD screen, he groaned, cursed, hit the button on the side to silence it and dove right back into the pillows. His boss could fuck off for all he cared.

_Beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep…-_

He wasn't going to give up until he answered, was he? A green eye cracked open as he turned to glare at his apartment's phone, willing with all his might it would stopped that horrid beeping sound. Gloriously enough, it did, for a moment. Suddenly, Arthur wished the phone had continued to ring, beep, _anything_. Anything in order to not listen to that accent he had learnt to loath after ten years when the machine switched on, beckoning the caller to leave a message.

"_Bonjour, Arthur. I know you're there and are listening to this message, so do me a favor and get your lazy ass out of bed." _A faltering silence then followed for a few seconds_. "I… I am in need of some company for lunch today… and I thought that, if you'd be so kind, for you to join me. There is no need to feel obligated, mon amie. Just an honest request from an old friend."_And with that, the line went dead.

Arthur's eyes remained transfixed in a blank expression. No sexual harassments, no lame jokes, no cheap attempt at flirting… He blinked. The man on the other line actually sounded serious for once… if not a bit depressed. And when that French bastard had a bad day, he was always sure to make it the same way for everyone in his path.

The casual clinking of glasses made the man look up at the young waiter refilling his drink with a small and professional smile. He couldn't even muster his usual flirtatious grin in return, so instead he settled for giving a court nod in thank you. It made him feel so pathetic; as if he had finally lost his touch after a long run. Francis Bonnefoy was no longer the incarnation of love and seduction; he was now but a fool. The moment the young man retired from his table he frowned. Something that just the evening before would be the most uncharacteristic thing for him to pull off. It made him wonder exactly where he had gone wrong, but it still escaped him. He had given her his all, answered and served her every whim… just to kick him to the curb.

Francis prided himself for being the smooth operator her was. There was no woman or man that could resist his charm. Just a flick of a wrist or the batting of long eyelashes or the wink of a crystalline blue eye was enough to make the world kneel before his feet. He was beautiful, elegant, charming, and most important of it all, French. And filthy stinking _rich_. Couldn't forget that important fact either.

Love was never a problem for him. In fact, his current situation needn't bother him as much. He could have another lover by nightfall if he so wished; and he did wish so. This was why he called his old friend, who wasn't really a friend, more like an old rival turned lover turned employee. Their history was a long and tedious one, filled with lust, alcohol and a betrayal that cut so deep not even Arthur was aware of it. As a consequence, it had bitten Francis in the ass and it was humiliating having to run back, with the tail between his legs, to the man he had double-crossed all those years ago. But that chapter had closed long ago and it was time to start anew. He would make the Englishman an offer he could not refuse… and if he even thought to do so… the Frenchman would gladly kick him out of his company without a second thought.

Francis knew that Arthur knew; which was why he grinned when the waiter came to his table once again. "Monsieur? You have a visitor."

"Excellent then. Bring him in. And bring me your best wine." A grin of pearly whites flashed as he flipped luscious locks of wavy blonde hair.

"_Oui, monsieur Bonnefoy_." The young man disappeared and once he surfaced again, he came with a bottle in hand and a rather tired-looking Englishman at his heels. Setting the wine on the table, he bowed low and scurried into the kitchen… and he could feel the Frenchman's eyes studying his rump as he rushed away.

Green eyes stared defiantly into pools of blue, who simply regarded him with a tinge of amusement. "You better have a bleedin' good reason as to why the hell you made me come down here."

"I already told you, _mon amie_. I simply wished for your company." Francis tone was sugar sweet, his smile matching his words. "Please take a seat, Arthur. Wine?"

"Not my cup of tea, but alright. Anything to dull this maddening headache." Arthur did as instructed and sat across from him, smoothening out the imaginary wrinkles of his trendy beige coat. He then removed his matching cap making several unruly strands stick about, giving him the whole bed-head look which Francis found rather appealing. As if he had had a rough and extremely satiating night in bed. His sour mood contradicted that point, though. "However, I still refuse to believe that you invited me down here _just_ to talk." His tone was accusing, but not his usual hateful spite.

"Always on edge, aren't you? But, think what you may, I only did want to spend some quality time with an old friend." Francis' smile did not falter. His eyes, however, failed to hold onto Arthur's. He served himself some more wine before filling the Briton's glass to the brim.

"We haven't had a social chat since I married. Ever since then, it was either strict business or you were never in town for one. Why the sudden change of heart, frog?"

"Must I repeat myself yet again?"

Arthur drummed his fingertips against the table, his face a steely blank mask. "…You got dumped didn't you?"

"_Moi_? Dumped? My, I never noticed that you had developed a sense of humor!" Francis' laughter seemed like the most natural thing in the room, but Arthur caught the undertone. Taking the glass, he took a healthy swing.

"Its noon on a Sunday and you are at your own chain restaurant instead of in your mansion, in your bed, with your mysterious little fiancé. Either you already had a nightlong shag or you two quarreled and parted ways. So which one is it? Judging by the bags under your eyes, I'm leaning towards the latter." The Englishman smirked smugly as his deduction. The first thing he had learnt once he had met Bonnefoy was to never trust him. His boss never gave anything without expecting something better in return, and his time was just as precious as any material object of value.

Francis' laugh was mirthless then. Witty little Brit. "Yes, yes, you caught me." The man visibly struggled to talk, his charade of smoothness falling into a small frown that tugged at Arthur's heart. He might hate the guy, but he understood how horrible a heartbreak was. How one moment you are on top of the world and the next you are being trampled on by the one thing you treasured most. "She left without a word." The Frenchman spoke up then, taking a sip from his glass. "She took my car, my cards… my heart…" He sounded surprisingly casual, making the Englishman uneasy. The guy deserved an award.

"Women are nothing but heartless whores, the lot of them." Arthur snarled, slamming his fist down none too gently against the table. "Give them everything and they'll throw it right back at you. Torn, faded and useless."

"Oh, now, no need to be so harsh, _mon amie_! Women are God's gift to the Earth! Beautiful and gentle beings created to be worshipped—"

"And that's exactly why she left you. Every word that comes out of your mouth is not but bullocks! Complete and utter rubbish that should have been banned at the turn of the century!"

"Well sue me for praising things that are meant to be praised. Unlike you who speaks nothing but senseless profanities! _Mon Dieu_!" The Frenchman tried his best to speak agitatedly, but quietly, hoping Arthur would get the hint to keep it down. Apparently the point wasn't getting across. Most of the clients were already turning to them with healthy glares.

"Shut your bleedin' yap! At least I use my mouth to speak! Unlike you who only exercises those muscles while sucking someone off—!" Those last words were turned into a muffled yelp when Francis abruptly leaned over the table, grabbed Arthur's tie and yanked him across the table for a healthy kiss. The last thing he needed was to lose clientele due to one dirty mouthed man. For a moment Arthur was too shocked to react, but when he did, he reacted on impulse. Francis reeled when a fist connected with his jaw and almost fell off his chair, but he recovered and moved quickly, chasing after the flushed Englishman that stormed out of the restaurant and into the busy Manhattan street.

It was the sheer audacity that pissed him off. Arthur had come out of pity for his old friend, and felt worse when he had seen that sorrowful look in his eyes. But, as always, the son of a bitch had to go and spoil his good intentions. He should have stayed in his nice warm bed, sleeping off the raging hangover that still lingered. But no, good ol' pushover Arthur had to run out and tend to a broken heart. Whoever did the same for him when his wife walked out on him? No one. _Fucking no one_!

"Arthur! Arthur, _sil' vous plait_! My good man!" Francis trudged as quickly as possible without actually running; unnecessary since Arthur was rather short and it was fairly easy to catch up with him. He didn't understand why his employee had acted so harshly. It was most definitely not the first time such a thing had happened between them. And he could swear it wouldn't be the last.

"No! Don't even come near me, you arsehole! If this was what you wanted, then I would not have come at all. I hate it when you play with me this way! I'm not some bloody toy you can control with the click of your fingers!" He was causing a scene. He even caught a glimpse of a few cops ready to intervene the heated discussion, a few bystanders, mostly teenagers, slowing their stride in order to listen in. Were the majority of Americans so bloody nosy? "Just stay away before I sue you for sexual harassment!"

"Stop acting like a child and lower your voice. I am sorry for what I did, but all of New York doesn't need to know what happened." Francis accidently bumped into a few tourists ready to get in a cab and ended up getting shoved rather rudely. That ended up fueling his sudden anger. It was just a stupid kiss. He _greeted_ people in his country with a damn kiss square on the lips; it wasn't really that big of a deal! Maybe he would have been better off spending the day alone. Maybe, Arthur was also tense for similar reasons to his own… But the Englishman's love life was as dead as that sorry excuse he had for a manhood in his pants. That was still no reason for him to overreact so violently.

"I'm acting like a child? I'm acting like a child? Listen to yourself for a change, you fucking wine bastard!"

"Excuse me, sir, but you might want to keep it down."

"Let go of me, bastard!"

"Sir, don't make me arrest you."

Arthur blinked himself back to reality when he glared at the police officer squeezing his arm. _There_ was a change. Police there usually hit first and asked questions later. Luckily enough, he knew the bloke. "Oh, hello there Ludwig—_Mister Officer_." He corrected himself quickly as he looked around and couldn't hide the immense blush that reached up to his ears. A rather big crowd had formed around them and were chatting a bit too loudly to his dismay. Words such as _lover's quarrel, some queer guys arguing about—, what a bunch of loudmouths_, reached him in clips, making him want to disappear into thin air. How humiliating. He was supposed to be a gentleman! Another point as to why hated the Frenchman. "I'm leaving."

"Arthur—"

"Follow me and I'll have your arse arrested!" In a wave of confused panic, Arthur turned on his heels and made a run for his place. It was a few good blocks away, but he was too humiliated to stand by and wait for a cab. He opted to run, not caring that his shoes were not mean to be used to such an extent, especially on wet pavement.

Francis, being so used to threats and all, followed the Englishman with a little wicked smile on his face. It was going to take more than that to shake him off. He knew how Arthur ticked oh so well. The moment he reached his apartment, he would crumble, he would beg for anyone to hold him. He was starved of affection; and that was just what the Frenchman was going to give him. This time he was sure of it, that he wasn't going to screw it up.

"I'm calling the police! I want a restraining order!" The Brit yanked off his coat which was now soaked due to him falling in a blasted puddle while on the run. It was too insane to handle. He swore he wouldn't put up with that crap anymore, and yet there he was.

"Oh, Arthur, cut this nonsense. What are you so afraid of, huh? We see each other at work day after day; I walk into your office exchange words with you… nothing out of the ordinary!" Francis nearly shouted as he slid his foot to stop the door from closing, leaving the shorter man to struggle with it. "What's the damn difference _now_?"

"That you are not here to talk business!" Arthur grunted as he pushed harder against his apartment door, smirking internally when he saw the other man flinch in pain. Hopefully it'll bruise and not let him walk for a week.

"What are you so afraid of then? The truth, is that it?"

"…"

"Arthur, you're hurting my foot."

"There is no truth to discuss."

"Of course there is. There is a lot that has remained unsaid for years—"

"There is no truth to discuss!" Francis stopped struggling then when he heard the panic in the Briton's voice. The quiver in his tone alongside the falling of his eyes… He had found Arthur's weak point and now he would proceed to do what he did best: exploit it. Exploit it with words that were not far from being true. The man had let his guard down all too easily, and it made him wonder just what the reason behind it was…

"Arthur, I—"

"I said _no_, you fucking frog! Are you hard at hearing?"

"I want to fix this… I _love_ you."

"You really _are_ hard at hearing, you twat!"

"… I love you." The sheer seriousness in Francis' voice was unnerving to the point that when he nudged his foot, the door easily creaked open. A defenseless and shaken Arthur stood a few inches in front of him, hands fisted at his sides. "All I want is another chance."

"How many more do you expect of me to give you? I swore to myself that never again would I be foolish enough to believe your sweet little words." Francis fiddled with a random string hanging from his jacket's hem, unable to look at the Englishman. "Twice was enough. You are nothing but my superior, my boss. And we should not linger on such a domestic level." Arthur spoke with finality, but his knees were shaking. His entire body was for that matter. "I refuse to let you in again."

Blue eyes glistened for a brief moment when he finally looked up at Arthur, taking in a deep and steadying breath. There was no turning back now. He wasn't lying when he said he loved him, he was just a bit unsure. Their relationship was far from normal after all, and after a history as rough as theirs, it was easy to understand why Arthur was being so reluctant. Francis didn't blame him in the slightest. "You don't have to let me in if you don't want to, _ma petite_. All I ask is for you to listen and accept those words for I mean them with all my heart and soul. I always have and I always will. I've made my mistakes, we all have… but what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, _non_?"

"You are so unfair…"

"Am I?"

"The first time, you left without a word. Left me alone in some rundown apartment in London while you came here chasing a dream. The second time, you ran off with some woman and left but a note saying how sorry you were that it couldn't work out. And now you expect me to drop everything and run into your arms again?"

"You married."

"Two years after you left the last time! I wasn't just about to sit around and wait for your return whenever you fancied it! I was tired of waiting. I gave you a chance and you blew it. It's over now. Get it through your big head. Besides, I know that the only reason why you're here was because she left you. I would appreciate if you used the _L word_ a bit less casually. Now, get your arse out of my apartment."

Arthur immediately turned on his heels once the last words were muttered; ignoring the fact that Francis was still standing in the doorway. Let him do whatever he wanted, he didn't care anymore. His headache was near splitting at the moment and he needed some aspirins, but that was besides the fact that he didn't want the unmanly redness in his eyes to be seen. "You're the one that's not being fair." He heard Francis approach him after shutting the door behind him, but he didn't pull away or lash out. "I offer you my all and yet you turn it away when you so desperately need it."

"You don't know what I need." Slender arms draped themselves lazily around Arthur's waist, a lithe chest pressing against his back sensually, trying its best to be alluring. And, shamefully enough, succeeding. His knees nearly buckled then and there, but he held his ground. No way was he about to let that French bastard easily undo him.

Hot breath lingered in his ear as Francis whispered, "But I know what you want…" Gentle fingertips began to massage Arthur's stomach in an attempt to ease away the back-snapping tension. But the Briton only laughed sardonically at the attempt. There was only one thing he wanted… one person… and Francis didn't even know who it was. Just another lie… one of many. Yet Arthur couldn't deny the fact that he wanted it, right there and then. Anything to satiate the need to belong. "You're starved…" Those same fingertips dipped low enough to tease the hem of the Briton's trousers and past, reaching the small trail of hair leading down to his most sanctioned of regions. "Just say the words and I'll make you mine again…"

Perhaps it was better to just ride it out without thinking.

Arthur leaned over the column that led to his kitchen, flipping off the light switch. "Shut the door."

With a click, he did. The sounds of lips smacking and shortened breaths soon followed. "Bedroom?"

"Living room." Francis raised an eyebrow at that. "Couch or you're out."

"Alright, alright. Couch it is."

The rest of the afternoon was but a blur. It would have been pleasant if Arthur hadn't broken down completely halfway through their lewd acts; sobbing in silence and trembling like a lost child. Francis pitied him truly, but that did little to kill his mood. He tried his best to comfort him as he twined their fingers together; squeezing them in a reassuring manner, but Arthur did not react… just took it as it came, moaning when it felt good, silent while Francis got off. Unstable did not begin to summarize his state. He had been so for a while, but it was during these moments, when he fully let his guard down that it came to haunt him. It was when he had company that he felt most alone.

He could have been New York's biggest player, but behind his apartment doors, he was nothing but a quivering mass of angst and depression. A person who desperately wanted to be told that he was beautiful; not sexy, not delicious or hot.

When it was over, the Frenchman slipped on his clothes again and flashed the tired Englishman a smile, offering him a small peck on the cheek. He stopped for a moment and winced though, the trail Arthur had left with his nails on his back stinging wickedly. "Leaving already?" No surprise or any kind of emotion in his voice… just… deadpan.

"I thought you'd need a moment to collect yourself. If there is anything you want just let me now and I'll get it for you, _mon amour_."

"Cigarette."

This made Francis smile as he fetched for a box and a lighter. "You know, they say that people usually smoke after a great round of sex." Running a hand through his wavy hair, he fetched his jacket and headed towards the door with a pleased grin plastered over his face. "I'll stop by later tonight, my little Arthur. _Au revoir_."

As the door latched to a close, Arthur snorted, lighting a fag and popping it between his lips. "I'm British. Smoking after sex means that my mattress makes better love than you, twat." Green eyes peered into the box, only two left. Bullocks. It'll take more than that to get the nasty taste of frog out of his mouth.

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_To be Continued._

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_A/N:__Something seems to be off with the formatting for some reason. My line breaks don't seem to be showing up, so many apologies in advanced if things seem rather awkward. _

_Anyhow, all I have to say is WOW. Between those awesome reviews and the amount of faves I received on this story was simply astonishing and inspiring! Thanks to all the beautiful people who did so, really got me going there. *Offers cookies in sincere gratitude.*_


	3. Chapter 3

_Falling in Love in New York City_

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CHAPTER 3

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"I should have joined the military."

"It isn't that difficult, Alfred-san."

"Easy for you to say! You're some kind of genius and stuff."

"No he's not, man. You're just stupid."

"Shut up, Gilbert."

"How much is two plus two?" The German asked with a face that had serious business written all over it.

Alfred's face imitated it to perfection. "Easy. Twenty-two?" Kiku's eyes widened hysterically, making the other two crack up. "Easy there, pal. I was just joking. But, all jokes aside, this… this is insane. I mean, who uses trigonometry in real life? Stupid class." The American slammed his book shut and kicked back in his seat, reaching out for one of the hamburgers Gilbert had picked up on the way there.

"Vacation ended too quickly." Gilbert randomly said, popping a fry into his mouth, opening a packet of ketchup and pouring it directly into his mouth as well. Tangy, but awesome. "I mean, two weeks. Honestly, who can celebrate Christmas in just two weeks? We don't even get time to play with our toys."

"Eto… aren't we rather old to be playing with toys?"

"Not all toys are made of plastic." Gilbert took the liberty to explain to Kiku with a smirk, throwing a wink in Alfred's direction.

"Oh, some of them _are_. Just, not the majority. They come out of glass too… but those are a bit uncomfortable." Alfred added all too suggestively, making Gilbert choke on his soda when he tried not to laugh. Kiku, however, looked completely lost. If it weren't for the silver-haired kid's gesture of rudely slipping one of Alfred's French fries through one of his onion rings, he still would have been lost. But he eventually caught the innuendo and blushed redder than the ketchup all over Gilbert's face. "Just kidding. Was talking about our videogames—"

"You see, we're all adults here, Kiku. We can talk about sex. Even if some of us act like ten year olds… Hinting someone who goes by the name of Alfred Jones." Beilschmidt completely ignored Alfred's clarification with a triumphant grin. Ticking the blonde off with twice the intent.

"Fuck off."

"Exhibit A."

"You think you're so grown up, Gil." He took a sip of his soda. "Whatever, I say we skip science."

"How mature of you. Classes just started, man."

"Well, I don't feel like taking any class yet. It's surprisingly sunny for being January anyway. Would suck spending the entire day indoors."

Gilbert pretended to think for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Fine! But! We get to check out the cheerleading tryouts!"

"Whoa. I didn't know you were into that."

"Well, duh! Hot stuff, right there. And don't come with that bullshit, we know you like it too. We all do."

"Hey, speak for yourself! I don't do skirts."

Crimson eyes narrowed at that. "Lying sack of shit. What are you, gay?"

"You're the one that just said you liked skirts." Alfred's grin widened tenfold, throwing his friend off. If it weren't for Kiku's stifled laughs, Gilbert wouldn't have noticed he was being made fun of. "I believe the word is… _touché_?"

"What are you…- _You son of a bitch_!" It was funny really, just how fast Alfred could run when pursued by a rabid Gilbert. "Jones, get your ass over here so I can kick it into the year three-thousand!"

"You're gonna have to catch me first!" The clear voice rang as he leapt over a protruding tree root, nearly tripping but agilely catching his footing. His laughter was contagious, to the point that it was already annoying. Leave it to him though, to make such a nasty thing such as the beginning of a new school year into a whole new exciting game.

By three o'clock, the excitement had faded. Cheerleading tryouts were boring since most of the chicks were either flat-chested enough to look like guys, or their breasts were so big they threw the whole routine off. All Gilbert did was whoop like an idiot and grab a few tushes without, surprisingly enough, getting shouted at. Came with the looks he supposed. As for Kiku, he just sat like a good little boy on the bleachers, blushing up to his ears when the cheerleading captain approached him. Of course, she had come up right to Alfred first, but the American grinned and politely told her that he was not interested in some brainless Barbie.

She looked somewhat flattered at the compliment.

In the search for peace and quiet, Alfred found himself on the roof, leaning against the cyclone fence and looking down at the bushy outskirts, smiling at how much they reminded him of—… Well, him. He fished for the crumpled card in his pocket, the one he always carried around and stared down at it with a slight frown. It wasn't like him to hesitate, especially when it came to asking someone out, but since his old man had started dating a few months ago… he kind of got distracted. It was a lousy excuse, he was aware of that, but he refused to believe that he was nervous. No matter if that guy was twice his age, he seemed pretty freaking interested.

For the weeks that followed after their little escape to the nightclub, Alfred dreamt of the stranger nearly every night. Silly, yes, but it thrilled him. A dirty little secret that no one knew of, not even his old man. How's _that_ for being a rebellious golden boy? Seeing an older man… how scandalous! Even if they weren't exactly seeing each other… Oh well, who cared? Alfred decided then, that he would call the office where Arthur worked at… _His father's office_.

Right. He had ignored that little detail as well; one that was equally important as to why he hadn't called. It would be insanely awkward, him putting on a seductive voice, mumbling sweet nothings over the line… and his father picking it up. The man would just laugh, without a doubt, but it'll still be awfully awkward. Same went for just dropping by the building. There was nothing he wouldn't do to see that wonderful guy again… but things were pretty much against him.

"Alfred-san?" Kiku's voice startled the blonde and he quickly pocketed the crumpled piece of paper, a surefire grin breaking across his face as was expected. "Strange of you to be on your own. Especially while looking so thoughtful." He said it timidly, but held his head high.

"Oh, hey. It's nothing. Was just thinking about… that new thing I got over vacation and stuff." Alfred mumbled, making the smaller student chuckle.

"May I ask what you have written on that card?"

"_Nonya_."

"Excuse me?"

"_Non ya' business_." The American tried to laugh in order to alleviate his sudden rudeness, but Kiku kept smiling as politely as always. "Just a number someone gave me and stuff… nothing to freak out over."

"The phone won't dial itself, you know. You've been looking at it for quite some time…" The brunette sauntered over, leaning against the fence as if mimicking Alfred. "Whoever it is, it's gotten you quite smitten."

"Oh will ya look at the time! I just remembered, I got something to do someplace so… see ya' round, Kiku!" Alfred nearly tripped over his own feet while laughing awkwardly, heading towards the stairs. The last thing he needed was an intervention before he even got anywhere.

Kiku's smile remained intact as he waved the jumpy American goodbye. "Alright then, you should really call though. You never know what can happen until you try."

"Yeah, never know! Ha!" With that moment behind him, he darted down the stairs. Like said, it would be _his_ dirty little secret. No one had any business in it, so no one else had to even know about it. Didn't want to wretch it in advance. But maybe Kiku was right.

Common sense told him that the more he waited, the less the chances he had to even succeed in that little heroic mission. Arthur could find himself a partner, maybe, or leave the city… country even. No, he would have none of that. He would take his chances that evening and call. His old man usually left an hour before closing down the building, so maybe he'd call during that hour span and not get caught. That was it; his foolproof plan ought to be a sheer success, like everything else he had ever planned! Well… for the exception of that _one_ time…

It had to be some kind of curse. It had to be damn impossible for time to go by so freaking slow. Alfred had opted to simply ignore the clock hanging on his bedroom wall but he was failing miserably at it. Even with the television on, it was just white noise in the background. He could swear he was gonna waste the batteries to the remote. Just randomly clicking away, ignoring everything that went on…

'_Go to Oprah! Go to Oprah! Go to Oprah!'_

'_Fifteen minutes or less can save you—'_

'_The curtain has closed on the so called Special Relationship between the United Sates and the United Kingdom. Stay tuned for more on CNN News—'_

"God, this is such trash. What do I care?" In all honesty, he could count the times he'd been that anxious with his fingers. Or that well dressed. Not too over the top, but not wrapped in drags either. In fact, he had even pulled out those white Armani dressing shoes his old man had gotten him for Christmas. Now that was style. Not bad for _making a damned phone call_.

Alfred finally decided to shake off his anxiety induced lethargy and made his way towards the kitchen. It was perfectly normal for an anxious person to eat; it was a law somewhere, so it was no crime to rummage the refrigerator for something to snack on. He particularly searched for those frozen mini burgers. Not the best way to eat a heart attack on a bun, since the only way acceptable is fresh off the grill with extra grease, but it would have to do... It _would_ have done if they _were_ any left, but to his dismay, they were fresh out. Someone was out to make his day suck.

"Today is supposed to be awesome. Then why is it made of so much fail?" The teen shut the door to the fridge and leaned against the marble countertop, gazing blankly at the clock. Maybe he _could_ walk over to the office building. One, it would kill a ridiculous amount of time if he took it slow and admired the industrial yet panoramic view; two, he could see Arthur _in_ _person_. If he was even there still. Sure he'd have the issue of running into his old man, but maybe it was all worth the awkward embarrassment. He would never find out the real reason why his son was visiting, simply because it would spoil the fun.

After a moment of debating, he finally decided. Perhaps walking might cool down his… anxiety. Yes, anxiety. Not nervousness. Alfred F. Jones was too cool to be nervous about seeing someone. A whiff of fresh cold air would do wonders through and through. Switching the television off and fetching his cell phone, he was out the door with newfound energy.

Deciding that the elevator would take too long, he dashed down the stairs three steps at a time, stopping once he got to the bottom and groaning to himself. The idea was to walk but to take things _slow_; he was failing at that simple mission. Patience was a virtue, but it certainly wasn't one of his. Not bothering to fix his shirt, which was now riding a bit askew, he casually broke out into brisk but smooth walk.

The sunny disposition in which the day had started with was now beginning to fade into a hazy gray, the air dropping a few degrees, enough to make him shiver. He had forgotten his coat when he had rushed out, but he was in no mood to run back and fetch it. He could have done it, since he had time to spare, but his feet continued to go forward on their own volition. He was anxious, so very anxious to see him again. It was a wonder Alfred had lasted that long without laying eyes on that sensual beauty. The same way he hesitating to do so was a wonder. That night at the club included a large scale of firsts for him; his first dance with a guy, his first _problem_ provoked by a guy, his first time… being insecure about asking someone out… who was a guy.

He was…. He was gay?

Everyone he knew made fun of him for being slow on things, but that was one thing he was shocked it took him so long to notice. After almost four months he comes to that suddenly very horrible and very disturbing realization. This was another _guy_ he was thinking about. Once again, thinking on their own, his feet came to a stop smack in the middle of the sidewalk. He was crushing on a guy? Alright, maybe crushing was too strong a word for it… Curious was perhaps a better term. "No way…."

Alfred pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose; just a twitch. Gilbert had been right all along then? He usually messed around with that, it was normal for teens to make jokes of each other's sexuality even when they were lying about it, whatever the reason. But this was something else entirely. Arthur was older than him, and clearly intrigued… _'This isn't a gay bar.'_ He had been able to realize he was… _from the other side_… before he himself was aware of it? Grateful he was about not having eaten anything yet, because he felt honestly sick.

It had to be a phase. Maybe it was genetic? Some rumors swirled around a few years ago about his old man being… well, a homosexual. But technically, if it was genetic, he was safe. The man wasn't his biological father… But maybe he had picked it up from him? Like some kind of unknown wave that affects the brain and other bodily functions subconsciously? Did that even make any sense? He should start paying more attention to his Social Studies class. Or was it Health?

Questions, questions, question. Alfred thought settling down with a girl was complicated, but this; they hadn't even been formally introduced; he was already to the point of barfing and it wasn't due to hunger. If ever had he felt confused, that was it. Homosexuality was wrong, frowned upon. And yet it was sort of a style nowadays.

Why was he even thinking down that path? Of course he wasn't crushing a guy he didn't know! It was just simple curiosity. Kind of like reading one of Kiku's Japanese comic books. You may not like the story very much, you may not like the way the characters were drawn, all exaggerated and whatnot, and yet you can't stop reading till the end. Perfectly understandable, sane and compatible with the human psyche.

Alfred felt better already.

… _Or maybe he reminded Arthur of an ex-girlfriend? Did that mean he looked like a girl? _Alfred growled out in exasperation, making a little kid that was just riding past him on a bicycle look at him as if he were crazy. "You're over-thinking things, man!" Blonde hairs were stretched out mercilessly as the teen nearly yanked them out in his frustration. Too much thinking. He was hesitating. He was nervous and unsure. Those were adjectives that just a few months ago, would have been blasphemous to the name Alfred Jones. The whole ordeal seemed to belong to some kind of supernatural story…

"Alfred-san?" Speaking of the supernatural…

The yelp that escaped the American was everything but manly as he nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around holding some kind of position with his hands above his head. "Kiku! What the hell man? You planning on giving me a heart attack?"

Dark pools looked up at him, calm and serene, but amusement was bubbling dangerously close to the surface. "If that is meant to be some sort of Martial Arts stance… you're doing it quite wrong." And that was as heated a comeback as it gets, coming from the smaller teen.

Alfred straightened himself out while clearing his throat to cope with the awkwardness of the moment. Why did he always manage to feel awkward around him anyway? "What are you doing here?"

"Wasn't this a free country? Or so you constantly remind us."

"Urgh, I mean, why?" He breathed in deep for a moment. Though his usual rudeness was still present, he wasn't acting much like himself. "Sorry about that, dude. I'm just a bit off and stuff." Alfred offered his best normal smile which Kiku returned.

"It's alright. It's never a good day when someone talks to themselves. It's a good technique for auto evaluation."

"Is that another way of saying I'm crazy?"

"Quite the opposite." Kiku chuckled lightly before resuming his way, waving a bit absently. "I was simply passing by." And just as mystically as he appeared, he was gone again. Alright, maybe not as mystically, because Alfred was watching him walk away.

To follow or not to follow? That was the million dollar question. If it were any other day, he would have, and would've annoyed the poor Asian kid all the way. But not today; he had an important appointment with destiny. An important appointment that could wait because he was nearly shaking in his two hundred dollar shoes. To hell with it. He was a quivering mass of nerves. It would never work. He was thinking with the mentality of a thirteen year old girl. He had to get his feet on the ground before he made a complete and utter fool of himself. More than usual.

"Hey, Kiku, wait up!" Alfred dashed down the nearly empty sidewalk and onto a slightly bigger crowd. A little bit of friendly company wouldn't hurt.

Most of the walk to wherever it was that Kiku was going was mostly spent in silence. Something unnaturally blissful, the brunette thought. Those sky blue eyes were gazing thoughtfully into the crowd before them the majority of the time; he would have asked, but that would have been rude. So instead, he let it go and allowed it to flow naturally. Knowing Alfred, he could never keep a secret for long. No matter how personal it was. It was just a matter of moments. Stealing a glance at the taller blonde, he immediately frowned. "Alfred-san, you're shivering."

"Huh? Oh, that." Alfred fidgeted for a moment, biting on his lower lip while thinking what to say. He'd go with the obvious explanation of course. Tugging down his shirt, he replied a bit sheepishly. "Kind of forgot my coat when I left the apartment. Didn't think it would be that cold." Immediately, he turned his sights towards an elderly couple who walked by them, hand and hand and looking ridiculously happy; the way only old people could pull it off. Shortly after, he turned his eyes to the gray sky overhead. Truth was he _was_ cold, and it was incredibly stupid of him to run out without some extra layers. But that wasn't the truth in its entirety. He was still confused, still debating, his mind running at a thousand thoughts and situations a minute…

"…. And some coffee?"

"What?" He finally noticed that Kiku was talking to him and nearly flushed. Which would have made no difference, his cheeks already tinted red. Let him think it was from the cold. "Sorry, kind of dozed off."

Kiku sighed and patted Alfred's arm as they continued to walk. "I said that perhaps we can go to closest café and have you eat something warm. Some coffee should warm you up and then you can get yourself a jacket and be on your way. No sense getting sick at the beginning of the school year." And that was perhaps the longest speech the American had ever heard him say. He was also reminded of his earlier dilemma.

"Food. Food sounds good about now. And coffee too. Why not go to that new place?"

"New place?"

"It's not exactly new; since there's like a million stores around the globe. But they opened a new one close by. S'probably not hot food, but they sell awesome cakes and stuff. They have wireless too." Alfred rubbed his hands together before pinching them under his arms in search for some kind of warmth.

"Oh, you mean Starb—"

"Yeah, that place! Best lattes in all of NYC. The vanilla ones are the bomb. Sorry, _awesome_." The blonde fixed hurriedly with a smile, walking a little faster now that they had a heading. Kiku didn't even bother asking why he was apologizing. He always did whenever he said the word _bomb_. Or perhaps, he did have an idea, but it was impossible that the American was apologizing for something that had occurred decades ago. "Maybe we should take a cab."

"Um… there's one across the street." The brunette added casually as he saw the taller man look up and down the street in search of a taxi. "Alfred-san?"

"Bah, that one's old already. I want to go to the new one—wha—_hey_!" Alfred was taken off guard when Kiku grabbed his wrist and yanked them down and across the busy street. "Whoa. I guess you _do_ have some spunk in ya'. Sweet, man." The smaller teen was not about to stand out in the cold on Alfred's whim. The last time he did so, he ended up going right around, exiting the club and going back to his dorm.

"I can assure you, Alfred-san. They all serve the same coffee. And I do not think you would be able to take the cold much longer. My apologies." And that was Kiku Honda for you. Annoy him, and he'll yank you to the ground. _Politely_.

The coffee shop wasn't as full as it normally was. Being one of the top chain shops, that was surprising. But all the better, thought both friends as they waited in line to order. The trendy lamps that hung from the ceilings were a light brown with several black swirls, matching the darker brown walls. On the east end was a mural of a fat chef holding some cocoa beans and more black swirls in the background, all done in a very contemporary style. For having such a large clientele, the place didn't offer too many places to sit at, but in the corner rested a circle of large leather seats. All of them incredibly comfortable and wickedly cozy. But those were sadly taking by some teens toying away with their laptops.

Once they had ordered, they had no choice but to sit on the only available booth there was; one of the ordinary ones. Alfred didn't care. It was nice and warm inside and the smell of hot coffee and equally warm pastries made him smile more than usual. For a moment, he had put aside his ordeal and just enjoyed the rapidly approaching evening. He glanced at the person sitting on the booth opposite to where he was going to sit at, or more specifically, he eyed the sleek black phone in his hand. His old man had promised him one, and he hoped he got one soon. Without much ceremony, Alfred plopped down on his seat, making the man behind him, the one with the phone, huff in annoyance. Ah, so it was one of _those_ seats. A good person wouldn't move around too much in order to not bother the stranger behind them… But Alfred just wasn't any ordinary person.

"Guess everyone's at the new place. Good thing I thought about coming here." Kiku rolled his eyes at that. Alfred sipped at his latte and nearly moaned at how glorious it tasted on his tongue. Silky, hot… it was almost a sin. "That's good coffee, right there." His friend chuckled and imitated the other, enjoying the java grasped between his small hands.

Pleasant, companionable silence settled in then, as they both relished in the taste and warmth of their drinks. Alfred picked up on his surroundings as he shut his eyes and inhaled the rich aroma that floated from the cup between his hands. He heard the contemporary jazz that was lightly drowned out by hushed chatter, tapping his foot subconsciously to the sly rhythm. A laugh down the aisle, and a hush from one of the persons with the one laughing…. The clicking of someone typing on a computer… The beeping of someone texting… The Sex Pistols? The man behind him spoke up, attending a call. "Alfred-san?"

Blue eyes snapped open then. "Sorry. Coffee does that to me."

Kiku looked at him steadily, dark eyes scrutinizing the young man, analyzing the situation and debating whether he should speak or not. Perhaps he should. They were friends, right? He had the right to be worried. "Is something on your mind? If I may be bold to ask. You've been acting strange." Alfred fidgeted and became unusually quiet. He was right, something was indeed wrong. Kiku would have let it go and not pressed on, but his silence brought even more pressure on the distressed American; as unintentional as it might have been.

"Well…you see… Hmm. I guess its fine to tell you and stuff. Since you barely talk to anyone else anyway." Drumming his fingers against the cup in his hands, he dragged out a sigh, stalling for a moment longer; debating which would be the best way to tell and yet not tell his current ordeal. He needed to be dead serious about this; because, for once in his life, it actually _was_ serious. A mature approach was called for, especially when talking to someone like Kiku. Alfred felt like he had to take on the solemness of an old sensei guiding his young samurai… even if the kid sitting in front of him wasn't even close to being one… Oh well. He was Japanese, so close enough a comparison.

"Alfred-san?" And that was all the motivation he needed. Without a second thought, he blurted out the best he could muster.

"Star Trek."

"…" Kiku stared. _Really _stared at the blonde sitting across from him. He had to be yanking his chain. "E-Excuse me?"

"You've seen it, right? I mean, you guys have your own spinoffs…" Alfred trailed off as he looked back at the Asian with all the seriousness in the world. He really was not joking; at all.

"And how—"

"You know how Captain Kirk and Spock don't really get along?"

It took Kiku a moment to analyze it, but he quickly caught on. Okay, so maybe Alfred wasn't entirely ready to spill the beans, at least he'd have an inside view, however brief, on the issue at hand. He followed suit. "You're referring to the latest film."

"Yeah, that one! I mean, don't get me wrong. The original series was awesome but—" A feeble attempt at a glare was mustered from the brunette, and even if Alfred found it hysterically funny, he swallowed deep and sobered up. "Kirk barely knew Spock, after the whole cheating on the test thing… and right off the bat, he knew he was some snobby, emotionally backed-up pain in the ass. But then, they became good friends." The American stopped and took a large gulp of his cooling coffee, and didn't speak again.

Perhaps Kiku had misunderstood what Alfred was aiming at. Though, that entire conversation made no sense to begin with. "How is that in any way—"

"But you see," Doing what he did best, Jones interrupted him again. "Let's say that… after the entire mission happens and the whole crew is flying all happy, zapping some Klingons off the map… Kirk and Spock… become… better acquainted." That was when he flushed. "You know, like… _more_ than… friends."

Nearly missing the last words, which turned out more of a mumble than anything, a light bulb clicked on almost immediately in Honda's head. So he did have a crush on someone. Perhaps, his methods of explanation were a bit unorthodox, but the point got through. All, except one. "Why not speak of Uhura then—"

"Because it's _Spock_." There was no doubt about it. Alfred knew what he was talking about, and Kiku knew that he knew. That didn't stop the well contained shock from settling in. Silence settled again for a few long minutes, until the blonde finally finished his java. "So… any thoughts."

Think before speaking. Kiku stared thoughtfully at the American, long and hard enough to make him shift after a few moments. He got what he wanted, they both did. A vent, as strange as it was, and information. There was no further need to press on the matter. So he did what he rarely did. "Yes, indeed I do have one crucial thought."

"…What is it?" More silence. Someone cursed in the booth behind him; Alfred ignored whoever it was. Kiku finally spoke up.

"I thought you to be more of a Star Wars fan."

It was as if everyone in the coffee shop had gone deathly quiet… until Alfred finally opened his big mouth to laugh hysterically. "I cannot believe… you totally had me going there!" The brunette actually chuckled at the reaction. A rarity, but a nice one; Alfred laughing _with_ him, and not _at_ him.

The hysterics eventually died down, and the rest of the time was spent discussing plot lines from the original sci-fi series. Alfred even went as far as buying two more coffees with a side of chocolate cake. Nightfall and a text from Gilbert later, the American's mellow joy began to fizzle out. Time did fly when one had fun… but he hadn't expected to lose so much time. He had set out to do something… and yet he had gotten caught up talking about old television series and video games. _What the hell was it?_ Kiku caught on to the frown. "What's wrong?" Pushing up the glasses a bit, Alfred stared at his phone. Half past six. He was late for—something.

"I forgot what I was going to…—" A gasp and curse later, once it finally hit him, Alfred was running out the door at lightning speed, leaving a bewildered Kiku in his wake.

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AN: Psh, ended up re-uploading the chapter since I ended up posting the wrong one. Heh. My apologies. Anywho, as you can see, I finished this chapter with a small cliff-hanger; and I do apologize for that. It was turning out to be exaggeratedly long, so I had to end up snipping it in two. Not a really interesting one, but I managed to get some character development there. And, I also wanted to thank all of you beautiful people who have favorite and reviewed; I'll say it time and time again, I love you guys. No doubt about it! Now, who can guess who the guy in the booth behind Alfred is? *Winks.*


	4. Chapter 4

_Falling in Love in New York City_

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CHAPTER 4

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Rain. Rain and a few stray newspapers was the only thing that welcomed Alfred as he stood in front of the ridiculously shiny building. Even in the dark, the sleek black design gleamed with the scarce lights. It was only seven in the evening; and he was a good two hours late. The last half hour he had spent it gawking at the revolving doors; unsure if to be relieved or upset. He had gotten out of the nerve-wracking moment where he'd at least try to approach his little _crush_, shall we call it; but also, all the preparing and mentally getting himself ready for the big moment had been all in vain. Distracted, as usual.

The streets weren't as crowded as they usually were, which was kind of a strange blessing of sorts. He didn't want anyone to see the frown that was so blatantly there. Fate was so bluntly working against him that it made him want to sob. Not that he would, of course. Because he was a man, and men didn't cry over stupid stuff. In fact, real men didn't cry at all. So he'd just have to suck it all up, keep his head high and move along. There were dozens of girls who'd give up their untouched flowers to him; why chase after some old guy who probably couldn't even get it up?

…_Untouched flowers?_ That was as poetic as he got. And, well, the guy wasn't _that_ old. Probably old enough to be his dad, and the thought alone was disturbing enough. Maybe he had an age complex. Maybe he was completely out of his fucking mind also. Maybe… maybe he should be heading back home. Little shivers began to make themselves known as he finally noticed his earlier dilemma. The cold suddenly felt ten times worse, and he was standing outside without a jacket still. If he didn't catch a cold from it all, then damn, he would have to be indestructible. With a shaky little sigh, Alfred turned on his heels and began his walk home.

Taxis were ignored, shuffling tourists as well; lip-chapping cold included. He just wasn't feeling on top of his game on that evening, come tomorrow, Alfred Jones would once again be sporting his million-dollar smile, ready to take on the world. But at the moment, sulking was called for. Pushing up his glasses further up his nose, he dragged his feet. Apparently not even the ridiculous amount of caffeine he had just pumped into his body was enough to turn his frown upside down. _A stupid school girl_, that's what he felt like. "Bummer."

In a subconscious impulse, Alfred slipped a hand into his pocket in search for his phone. But the only thing that surfaced was a small ball of lint. He tried his other pocket; a five dollar bill, a paper clip and his wallet. Slipping the bill into said wallet, he rechecked the first pocket but found nothing different from his first dive. "Shit." Patting down the front of his jeans and then repeating the action across the back led him nowhere. His phone was lost.

Okay, maybe not lost. He had used it back at the coffee shop before blindly jumping out the booth and out the door. There was a good chance he had left it back there; and if that was the case, then he was sure Kiku would keep it safe until tomorrow. But what if he had dropped it on the floor while he ran out and someone else caught it? "Shit, shit, shit!" There wasn't a saint left for Alfred to cuss out as he turned on his heels and ran back towards the coffee house, eventually slowing down to a jog. Running meant speed, speed meant wind cutting across the front of his body, and cold wind on a January evening in New York was not something to be toyed with when the only thing you're wearing are a pair of jeans and a decent shirt. Huffing as he went, his breath visible in front of him in small puffs of smoke, he could swear the tip of his fingers were beginning to turn blue. If he didn't die of hypothermia by the time he got home, or even to the coffee shop, it'd be a miracle. But as far as the day had gone, miraculous things weren't exactly on his side.

Once he got to the seemingly never-ending street, he waited for a few cars to pass by before he deemed it safe to cross into the shop's sidewalk. And the moment he did, his stride slowed tenfold. The cold was no longer the only reason for his chills.

Blue eyes gazed through the glass windows of the toasty looking coffee shop, starring at his Asian friend standing beside the same booth they were in earlier. It wasn't Kiku his shock was directed at though, not in the slightest. It was the slightly taller male standing across from him, chatting most casually as they shook hands. His mind blanked. It had been doing that a lot lately, come to think of it; but continued to stare on. There was just no way…

Alfred _knew_ the guy worked in his father's office, but that didn't stop the surprise of seeing the stranger dressed in a neatly ironed suit. It was such a stark contrast to the painfully tight pants and near slutty shirt he was wearing at the nightclub all those weeks ago. That polite and professional expression that made it impossible to imagine the lust fueled one of that night. He was also slightly taller than Kiku... _How perfectly he had fit against his body…_ Alfred felt something in his throat knot. His stomach felt heavy; and he feared the sweat on his forehead would end up turning into icicles soon.

He could see the emerald of his eyes, the faded blonde of his hair, those massive eyebrows… But it wasn't good enough. The first time he had seen him in the dark; now, he was seeing him through a foggy window. It was nowhere _near_ enough. An improvement, but he wanted more. He wanted to stand in front of him and really look at him. Nothing in between; no barriers. Did he have freckles? _God_, he hoped so. Yes, he had a thing for freckles; not the massive kind where you couldn't distinguish what was the normal skin and which were those little spots. But the soft ones that could only be seen in the sunlight. He didn't look old. Older than him, yes, but not as old as his old man, he noticed with a sudden wave of relief. … He was also leaving.

Snapping back to painful reality, Alfred inhaled sharply and made for the door. Mind running at one hundred miles per hour, he schemed and played out different scenarios. Maybe he should just approach Kiku, pretend like he didn't notice him and then smile politely and offer his hand. Or, he could ignore Kiku, look absolutely shocked at the man and ask if he was the person of his dreams—no. That was just retarded. What if he walked right up to him, tap his shoulder and be completely cliché. _Have we met before? Why, I think we have! Didn't we dan—_ NO.

The two forms were quickly advancing, or more likely, he was. His breath hitched, his mouth dried. _What on earth was wrong with him?_ He had done this millions of times before. He had asked dozens of girls out and never been rejected. Flirted with complete strangers; hell, he even came right on to Arthur that night and didn't even hesitate. Why the sudden nerve attack now? His feet stopped as if of their own volition, right behind the man he had been longing to see since what seemed to be forever.

Quickly swiping the fog off his glasses, Alfred inspected the man from behind. Every curve, the stiffness of his back, the tantalizing wake of his rear… He watched silently as the man looked down at his watch, the short hair ridding up a bit, exposing a small amount of milky skin and… and… Alfred's heart sunk. Was that… a _hicky_? … No, no, it couldn't be. Maybe it was just a rash or something. Why in the hell was he acting like some sort of creepy stalker anyways? He stopped when that thought settled in his head, looking from side to side to see if anyone had picked up on his strange staring. Everyone was engrossed in their own little worlds. Good.

Some people say time stops when in the presence of the person you are smitten with. Those people clearly lied. It all moved _too damn fast._

"Oh, Alfred-san!" Kiku was rather surprised to see the American again after having run out like some kind of crazy person. He stood there, with Alfred's phone in his small hands. He tried to answer casually, but his throat was dry. He settled with a forced smile. He had seen it coming, then why the hell was he taken so off guard?

The short blonde looked over his shoulder absently before turning back to the Asian with a small smile. "Ah, I best be off then. Have a pleasant evening, young man." Arthur gave a court nod before turning to the new arrival; another small nod and he made his way towards the exit, suitcase in tow. Alfred continued to watch him as he exchanged a quick friendly word with one of the employees before disappearing into the dark outside. If the world ended at that very moment, he wouldn't have given a fuck. He didn't even recognize him. Shoulders sagging, he turned to Kiku who was bluntly staring at him, the phone forgotten in his hand.

"Are you all—"

"Fine and dandy! Freezing my ass off still. See you got my phone." Flawless smile settling into place; blue eyes shining with the light of a thousand suns. Alfred was just Alfred again; careless, happy and clueless. Normally, Kiku would have thought him ridiculous, a façade; but the American played it well enough to make him doubt his own deductions. A top class specimen who played happy-go-lucky so damn well. He'd eventually end up making a fool out of himself. More than usual, anyways. "Man, I flipped when I thought I'd lost it. Thanks."

"You dropped it when you had run out. The screen is a bit cracked; since the gentleman didn't notice and kind of stepped on it when he got up." Taking the phone as gently as possible, Alfred inspected it. The LCD was cracked to an extent that he couldn't even see the background, an old vintage Superman comic panel, much less navigate through his contacts. How was _that_ for a sign? Not that he was superstitious or anything, but it couldn't be more obvious. And for Jones to notice something _not_ obvious took a lot. "He gave me his number. Said to call him if there was a problem; that he'd pay for it."

_It wasn't his fault…_ was what Alfred wanted to say; but it would have been too uncharacteristic of him. Too damn obvious; and Kiku was too damn smart. He would have read him like a book. "He damn well better pay for it, man. Do you know how much this things cost me?"

"I thought it had been a gift."

"Uh, yeah, but… the _emotional_ value behind it; you can't put a price on that, Kiku." Sighing in exasperation, Alfred threw his hands above his head. "And my contacts! How the hell am I supposed to get them now? I sure as hell don't plan on going person to person just to get their fucking phone numbers." Glaring patrons were ignored. "Dad's gonna fucking kill me."

"Hadn't he said he was going to get you a new one?" Kiku remained calm, not even bothering to act concerned. Alfred was acting like a spoiled child; one call to his father and he would have a brand new cellular phone by the time the sun rose over Manhattan. He handed his blonde friend his own phone.

"Yeah but… What's that for?"

"Give your father a call; explain it all."

"I can just drop by and tell him, you know. His place is pretty close; might get a jacket while I'm at it."

"It's better to just call him and tell him in advanced, over the phone. That way you won't have to face him yelling at you when you drop by. Sort of like an insurance. And I think we should sit down now, people are staring." Nodding, Alfred snatched the phone and retook the same seat he'd been on earlier, but not without casting constant sidelong glances towards the door.

He was British. That accent alone had sent a chill down his spine. Sure they had spoken that night, but the loud music had canceled out the tone, the slur that made him so much more enticing. His lashes were almost as thick as his eyebrows, making the green of his eyes powerful enough to enrapture any damn thing close enough to enrapt. Three seconds. He had taken him all in, in just three seconds. And it was still not enough. His mind was in overdrive; thinking, analyzing, plotting, fantasizing. It was impressive just how much he could think about a subject, as long as it was relevant to his interests.

Kiku was quiet. It took him a while, but when he noticed, Alfred flashed him a shit eating grin. "Hey, hey! Little rebel there, ain't ya? How many times did you pull that stunt on your old man?" The Asian was still staring. Those brown eyes told him that he knew something was up, but he was being polite enough as to not bring it up. He too was analyzing the situation. Could it be…?

"At times, we do what we must to survive. I've been threatened over the phone, but once I got home, they've settled down and wouldn't ground me. Not as bad as they had said, anyways." Alfred continued to stare at the phone. "It won't dial itself, you know."

"I know, I know." Flipping it open, Alfred dialed. No answer. "Strange." Maybe he didn't recognize the number. He tried again; still, no one answered. Dialing the house phone, it rang and rang, but no familiar click, or non-American accent answered. The machine switched one though; so Alfred proceeded to do what he did best. Exaggerate. "Yo, pops! I've been trying to call you for like, the last hour. Horrible news; I don't even think I'd be able to go back to my apartment even. Mind if I crash at your place tonight? Just call me back ASAP; please…" Flipping the phone shut, he just had to laugh at the look on Kiku's face. "What?"

"Alfred-san, your LCD screen is broken. You didn't kill someone in your apartment. Neither are you being taken downtown because of it."

Laughing, Alfred shrugged. "Hey, needed to catch his attention! Besides—" The phone began vibrating, and then quickly switched into some upbeat song in Japanese. "Told ya." Instead of taking the call though, he drummed his fingers to the beat against the table.

"Eto…"

"I'll pick it up in a sec; totally love this song." It took all of Kiku's might not to press his palm to his face when the phone finally stopped ringing, and Alfred looked completely outraged. "That was rude." Once it started vibrating again however, Alfred flipped it open instantly. "Yeah? Oh, hey, dad." Fistpumping while biting his lip, the blonde remained silent, listening to his father's worried ranting over the phone. He nodded, pressed a hand to his lips to silence a giggle before nodding again. Kiku was amazed at the exaggerated extent his friend could convey an emotion. "No, no; I'm kind of okay I guess. What? Naw, I'm at the café with Kiku. A while I guess." Inspecting the dirt under his nails, the blonde snorted. "Too much info, man. What should I-? What do you _mean_ I _can't_? I'm your goddamn son for crying out loud!"

The dark eyes across from him widened considerably, mouthing a 'what's wrong' as the blonde started to get visibly agitated. Alfred turned his head away and lowered his voice again, his usual childish pout popping into place.

"Whatever, man. I was gonna say that my phone broke. Wasn't being serious about crashing at your place— I'll _'whatever'_ you as much as I freaking want!" A moment of silence as Alfred shifted his sights across the café in an aggravated sort of way, his cheeks red from the anger. "I'm not raising my fucking voice! And what the hell was _that_?_ God_, you're such a pig!" Flipping the phone shut, he slammed it against the table with all the strength in his teenage body; running the available hand across his face to cover up the red in his cheeks; now not only because of his anger, but because of the embarrassment. "What an asshole." With a huff, he looked up at Kiku who only gazed back, looking paler than ever. "_What_?"

The Asian only blinked, and turned his sights to the blonde's hand clasped against the table before looking up at him again. "You're embarrassed. That's something not exactly common in you."

Looking away, Alfred huffed, glaring at the fat chef painted on the wall. "His boyfriend was there." His cheeks grew a darker shade of red. "I don't think that was a popsicle he was sucking on."

"Oh." Kiku's lips hung on to the O though; making him look rather comical and a tad bit out of character.

"What kind of father tells their own son that they can't crash for the night just cause he's busy with work? When it's so fucking obvious that he's just fucking his boyfriend." He ignored the way his friend's cheeks colored at that. "Such an ass."

"I believed you two got a long fairly well."

"Not really."

"You seem so enthusiastic when you speak of him." Which was a rather silly statement, truth be told. What wasn't Alfred enthusiastic about?

"He's cool when he wants to be. Like this, for example." Fishing for his wallet, he flashed a platinum credit card with a matching grin. Just like that, he was the incarnation of sunshine again."Being the son of a successful business man has its convenient moments."

"Nothing brings families closer than money." Kiku bit his tongue the moment it slipped out, regretting it already. But Alfred just shrugged.

"Gotta get something out of him. He gets the sex, I get the money."

"You make him sound like a—"

"I _swear_ the God; he has to be, Kiku."

"I don't quite think he needs to sell his body to earn any money, Alfred-san."

"Who said it was for money? I swear he does it for the hell of it." The bitterness was back. The way he ran through moods was about the most difficult thing one could track. And it just amazed Kiku; no matter how long he knew him, Alfred always was and always would be a sight to behold. But he was honest. He always wore what he felt on his sleeve; so obviously reflected in those big blue eyes. Alfred was honest about his feelings; most of the times, anyways. Otherwise, he'd just smile and lie through his teeth as flawlessly as… well, there was really no comparison.

"But he has a boyfriend now."

"So? Sure he settled down; but it doesn't change anything. He'll drop me in a sec just to do that whore."

"He loves him. It's perfectly understandable—"

"Francis isn't capable of loving anyone. That's one thing mom taught me that was actually worth remembering."

"All this time, and this is would be the first I hear you mention your mother." Drumming fingernails against the slick tabletop, Kiku sighed; an extraordinary event, really. But Alfred either didn't notice or didn't quite care; being lost in his own thoughts and all. Something he'd been doing an awful lot lately. "What was her name? If I may ask?"

"Harriet Jones."

"A strong name —"

"She was the British Prime Minister back in two thousand and five."

"…" If it weren't for the dead serious face Alfred had on, Kiku would not have believed it. He had to be pushing his buttons in some form or another. "Eto… exactly, how do you sprout an American child… from a French father and an English mother?"

"The Feds." The blonde's features did not budge. "They were sent on a mission to destroy… —"

"Alfred-san."

"Okay, okay; I'm just trying to lighten up the mood here. Geez." Kiku smiled then and nodded, waiting for the real explanation. "Both my rents are all American."

"But Francis —"

"Is my stepdad?" Enlightenment finally hit him, answering with an exaggeratedly slow nod. "Did you honestly think we're related by blood? I don't even look like him! I mean, even my eyes are bluer!"

"Ah, I see. So you don't like him because he isn't your biological father."

"Seriously? Naw."

"Then why, if not that?"

"Two words. _Freedom fries_."

Kiku stared at him. "Because he is French."

"Exactly. Do you know what big pervs those Frenchies are? God. That might just about justify why he's like that… But that's no excuse to neglect his charge." Complicated words; he needed to cut down on them. He was over thinking again, but for just one brief moment, a flash of green eyes made him breathe deeply. It might just have been the briefest of memories, but it was enough to make him smile. Alfred's head was just a huge mess of tangled spaghetti at the moment, and venting out was doing some good. But truth be told, his mood was shot. All he wanted to do was get back to his apartment and sleep for the rest of the evening.

"Uh, Alfred-san?"

"Huh?"

"Eto… May I please have my phone back?"

"Wha—…oh. Oh, shit." Noticing then that he had slammed the phone a tad bit too hard against the table and had been constantly squeezing it in an attempt to relieve his stress, he checked it out. The string of curses that slipped out of him were just as colorful as the shirt that one guy was wearing a few booths down. "Fuck! I'm sorry, man! I'll get you a new one or something…"

Taking the phone from the stressed out American's hand, Kiku grimaced. The screen that told him the time was cracked, the number eight eternally was showing as a seven now. Flipping it open carefully, his frown deepened. The cherry blossom background was now a splash of red, blue, yellow and green in the form of a circle; as if something had stabbed the center of the screen and it was bleeding the colors from it. The volume buttons on the side weren't functioning. "Hm."

"Ah, man, I'm sorry! Look, I swear, I'll get you a new one!"

"You can't even get yourself a new one… I doubt your father will allow you the amount needed for two. I can try and fix it —" His words carried off as they were continued to be drowned out by the endlessly rambling American, who continued on and on apologizing for his brute strength.

"…if not I could always just get a job or something, you know. And then maybe…—Did you just _snort_?" It was Alfred's turn to gaze unabashedly at his best friend who was now doubling over the table, restraining his laughter, but yes, he had just snorted. "What's so funny?" He forced out a chuckle at that, not to seem behind on what was going on. Because he honestly had no idea what was so funny. Strange occurrence of the day number ten thousand. Sleep was needed, lots of it. As soon as it was possible.

"Get a job? You're so funny, Alfred-san."

"I don't get it. I can work if I wanna work! I just… didn't want to."

"You'd get a job over asking your father to help you?"

"… Why can't you just say _'dad' _like everyone else? _Father_ sounds so weird."

"Please don't change the subject."

"Okay, okay, jeez. I dunno, maybe a job can entertain me and stuff. Get my mind of things." Alfred said airily, staring at the fat chef again before looking up at the trendy lamps hanging above their table. "Study during the day and work at night; get weekends free. Get some extra cash and stuff."

"I've never seen you too bothered with family issues. Is this a recent occurrence?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've never seemed bothered by it before. For someone as spoiled as yourself to get a job in order to occupy your mind is something rather drastic." That earned him a glare. "It's just a thought."

"I'll have you know that this has nothing to do with that. I just want to be a responsible young man for once, is all."

"But you just said —"

"I should get a job here! Trendy, hip, lots of cute chicks, if you get what I mean." Another forced chuckle was making Kiku more suspicious that he had already been. It was settled then. What Jones was hiding was more than what he had just been told earlier that evening. "You know what? I'mma just go and ask for an application right now! I'll be right back." Hurriedly getting to his feet, Kiku watched the American stumbling over his nice shoes as he made his way towards the counter.

He could have just called the man responsible for breaking the phone; then that'd only leave his own phone to pay for. Which was silly. He could very well afford a new one on his own, but his friend seemed hell-bent on paying for it. Oh well, it was Alfred sacrificing his free time, not him.

All in all, the day had not been what he had expected. Kiku had a lot of analyzing to do for the next few days. And it wasn't due to his upcoming physics exam. He waved back shyly as the American waved a job application from across the shop, that brilliant smile not entirely reaching his eyes. Oh what a bundle of contradictions Alfred F. Jones was.

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_To be Continued._

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_AN__: Late update is exceptionally late. My apologies guys. As usual, just wanted to say thank you to the beautiful people who reviewed; those things keep me pumped. :D This chapter is a bit slow due to the fact that I'm still getting the characters settled into their corresponding atmosphere. That, along with my indecisive head, are giving me the writer's block of the century. Remember to stop by my profile for updates and whatnot. Peace and love._


	5. Chapter 5

_Falling in Love in New York City_

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CHAPTER5

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With a satisfying click, the lighter came to life, burning the end to his fifth cigarette in the last hour. No, Arthur did not have a problem. Or at least, chain smoking wasn't one of the many. His irritation was beyond exceptional at that very moment. Irritated, humiliated and with the biggest blasted migraine of the century. It escaped him, the level of incompetence his boyfriend tended to sport. He grimaced at the mere thought of the word. Be what he may, the blonde still had trouble coming to terms with it.

Across from him, laying face down on the ridiculously luxurious carpeted floor, utterly nude, was Francis. Groaning, but not in the pleasant kind of way. He thumbed at the bruise that now protruded from the middle of his head and flinched. Yup. That was going to hurt worse tomorrow. He sometimes mused exactly what possessed him to be the unstable Englishman's significant other, and ninety percent of the times he could find no good reason. He was moody, depressing, rude, violent and a damned drunk with a smoking problem. Alright, so Arthur was good in bed, truth be told, but at times like these, he second guessed if it was even worth it. After all, relationships aren't only for the sex.

But it sure was a big part of it.

"_Mon cher_, don't you think you went a wee bit too far?" Arthur refused to answer the carefully toned question and instead took a long drag from his cigarette. "Now I'm getting the silent treatment." Angling his head in the least painful way possible, he glared at the Englishman perched on his couch, cross legged, cigarette pinched between kiss swollen lips. A broken phone lay forgotten by his side. Second one that day; he was on a roll. "We've come so far as well."

"_You_, maybe. But not me." The accent was heavily marked as he snarled at the nuisance splayed on the floor, slamming down his hand with sheer exasperation, forgetting the fact that the cigarette was still in his hand. He was still entirely dressed, having just arrived to find a nude Frenchman at the door. Only his tie was askew, the first few buttons of his neatly pressed shirt undone, but otherwise untouched. Arthur was stressed, had only stopped by to pick up his paycheck since his boss had ditched work that day, and was jumped on like some kind of prey. Sadly for him, he let himself go along, until the phone rang and, to his eternal humiliation, the infuriating French douche bag picked up.

With his black mood, he was shocked himself that he hadn't just picked up the phone and called social services on the arse. Indecent exposer to his own son; sexual harassment, pedophilia... he could name a few things to screw him with. But Arthur valued his job. It was the only way he could afford living in New York, in his comfortable apartment, and his unusual lifestyle. England held too many demons for him to return.

"I'm sure he didn't even notice—"

"You lied to him. You refused him the need to stay the night, denied him the right of having a roof over his head, even if it was just joking." Reaching his boiling point, the Englishman shot up and stormed into the kitchen, making sure to kick the body on the floor along the way. "He's your bloody son for Christ's sake. And put some fucking clothes on." He snapped at his lover as he waltzed after him, unbothered by his own nude body and the healthy kick to his ribcage.

"He's an adult, Arthur. You're talking as if he were but a child. He can fend for himself."

"Wanker. Cold hearted, filthy son of a bitch…" Arthur continued to rant to himself as the Frenchman left into his room with a dramatic roll of his eyes and a sigh. The Brit was truly too stuck up for his own good. All he had intended to do was woo him, ease those tense shoulders of his and give him a lovely time. Maybe ease those horrid eyebrows of his.

Turning on the tap, Arthur splashed water on his face, rubbing his eyes fiercely for a few moments as he mentally raged at the insufferable bastard he was sleeping with. Why did he put up with him? Why did he bother? Why did he have to be so fucking _desperate_? Bonnefoy had no heart; he knew no love. Just lust and an appreciation for all things beautiful, but that was all. He didn't know how to love his own blood, how could he possibly love him? Why would he possibly even expect it? Dared to hope? The shuddering sigh made his chest quiver with rage and insolence. Arthur wanted to be loved, wanted to be needed. Not because he feared it was unrequited, it was because he _knew_ it was. He wanted Francis to love him because he didn't love the Frenchman in return. The only passion he had towards the frog was hatred. A hatred so cleverly, deceptively patient, that it _wasn't_ patient.

He was also starting to believe that he was going mad. The thoughts didn't make sense, but he didn't want to be alone. Better to be in bad company than by one's self. He was an adult; adults functioned differently from teenagers, so he assumed that was all right for the time being. At least until… _Until what?_ What was there to look forward to? Depression was finding its way into his being. Stronger then what it used to be.

Francis could have had it all. He had a wife, a son, the money, the connections… Yet he was so incomplete, but seemed to be happy about it. Content with what he had, including the unstable Englishman. It blew Arthur's mind. How was that even possible? What was he doing wrong? The straight A student and council president back in the day. The lad who signed up for community service every other weekend when he wasn't at the animal shelter. The football player, the one that never did drugs, never smoked and never drank even when he was dragged to university parties. He had been the perfect role model in his youth. Then why did life fuck him over?

"I do hope you don't intend on using that."

The short gasp nearly made Arthur choke as he looked down and gazed at the open drawer, the voice pulling him out of his reverie, making him gaze blankly at what he was about to do. He didn't even notice himself open it. "No…" Slamming the door shut, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in absolute frustration. Acting without thinking. He was bound to do something stupid, eventually.

Leaning against the door frame, Francis frowned, noting that the situation was a lot graver than he expected it to be. The stubborn Brit was indeed teetering over the edge of sanity, and he feared that, even as a punching bag, he was the only one keeping him from going over. He was something solid that Arthur could focus his rage on, and most of the times he could get him to channel said energy into bed. Mind blowing, rough sex. But come morning, he was left with a warm body devoid of emotion and feeling.

Loosely wrapped around his body, the robe Francis wore exposed his chest; light curls of gold nearly invisible in the dim lighting. He smirked internally, knowing that Arthur was just a sucker for scantily dressed Frenchmen. "You seem stressed. Why not come along to bed and talk to me, non? Get you comfortable." Yes, a distraction was in order. And if he played his cards well, heaven knew what he could get out of it.

"I'm never comfortable around you."

"You hurt my feelings, Arthur."

"Good to know we're mutual." Arthur turned towards him then, glaring daggers right into those blue eyes he learned to hate with sublime passion. He was unfazed by the state of near undressed. "I just stopped by for my check to then be on my way."

"I'm not one to mix my personal life with my work."

"Too fucking bad. You're sleeping with your employee, deal with it."

"I do think that, for your sake, you should stay the night, Arthur. Time by your lonesome will only make you over think. And you know what happens when you do that." Francis said with a sigh, his voice higher than usual, dropping his seductive tone into a more demanding one. It sounded so much more normal; natural, even. He also sounded concerned. Honey coated concern.

"I'm not a kid. I can take care of myself." Pausing for a moment, he sighed. "Just give me my—"

"So you can go and spend it all on booze?"

"I don't know who you think you are, but you're not my father. You're nothing to me and you have no saying as to what I do with my hard earned salary." The level tone was more unsettling the usual unintelligible shouting. He looked calm, and it scared the flying fuck out of the Frenchman.

"Promise me you won't get in trouble. I don't want to stain the name." The company. It was all about his bloody company and its reputation. Arthur leaned against the granite countertop, more like slumped, and waited for his boss to fetch his earnings at his home office. He wanted to sleep. A good long sleep, uninterrupted, without nightmares. But he didn't want to return to his place. He knew Francis was right; he didn't want to be alone to think. God knows what he'd do. "Here." The older male dropped the envelope on the countertop, leaning across from his lover, imitating his pose, staring at him with steady blue eyes.

"Thank you."

"Don't come in tomorrow. Just get some rest."

"I wasn't planning to." And without another look, Arthur trashed the burnt out cigarette that was still pinched, forgotten, on his hand, and pulled out a new one, making his way to the door and slamming it hard as he walked out. Turns out, there were some advantages that came with dating your boss. Taking the stairs instead of the elevator, the Englishman stormed out into the cold night, ignoring the bitter breeze that sliced into the warmed back of his neck.

Minutes after he set off walking towards his apartment, he stopped, remembering his earlier thought. Home alone for the evening wasn't such a good idea, especially when he had ordered a new set of kitchen knives from QVC just a few weeks ago. He was still learning how to cook American food properly, but it still tasted like utter shit to him. Green eyes gazed blankly at the stop light, pondering if he should just cross and risk getting hit, or wait for it to signal him to pass. Or he could just walk the other way entirely. Shifting on the spot, he gazed behind him to see the still busy streets. There was really no place to go in that direction, at least, none that interested him, but what the hell.

Finally paying heed to the cold, he slipped on his coat, turning up the collar to better protect his neck and ears. It was still early, nighttime, but early. He ignored the several times his side was scuffed by a hurrying passerby, his mind wandering yet blank as he walked without heading.

He had walked until his feet hurt, until he found himself somewhere in Manhattan. He stopped for a hot dog, for lack of anything that might interest him in the culinary department, and that's when he noticed. The only money he had on him was his check. Searching his wallet, he frowned. Irritated, he pulled out the envelope to see that, miraculously enough, Francis had paid him in _cash_. As if the Frenchman really wanted him to get in trouble… Or he probably was just trying to be a good bloke for once. He voted the later. Bonnefoy was many things, but not _good_.

It took him a moment to analyze just how much the vendor was asking for and found himself lost in translation. He might have been there for over a decade and some change, but the currency always got to him. Not bothering to count, he just popped out a fifty. He didn't bother counting the change either. The stares he got made him feel self-conscious, but he stepped aside and enjoyed his warm snack. Not that he had much of an appetite, but who was he to deny something warm.

Moment and a soda later, he was off again.

With someone hot on his trail.

The phone in his pocket vibrated, but it was promptly ignored. He wasn't in the mood. He was just cold, irritated and just… depressed. And now his feet hurt. Just splendid. But he continued his non-specific way until he came face to face with a familiar sight. Central Park. The yellow and green trees standing high and strong, reminding him vaguely of his own little version of it back home. Human traffic didn't seem as bad, so he opted to take some time off his weary feet on one of those nice wooden benches. It was a bit too cold for that, but he could handle. Winters in London made sure of it. Making his way through the gates he walked and walked, his already black mood dropping into his sickened stomach.

So many damn couples…

Kissing, groping, and sharing popcorn and chocolates. He felt compelled to throw up what he has just finished eating.

Minutes ticked by until he found himself deep into the shrouded park, some trees bare, the other's just barely. He slumped down into an available bench with a long and tired sigh, fighting the urge to just kick off his shoes. One hour. He had walked for one full hour and he still felt like shit. Now he was just a shit with aching feet. "Bleeding fuck."

"Nice language, mister."

Arthur looked to his side and saw a kid fill the available space, making his frown deepen tenfold. That was the last thing he needed. "Excuse me?"

"You aren't form around here, are you?"

"Yes, yes I am." He groaned in his head, when he heard something click loudly. "Shit. We haven't even gotten past the introductions." The Englishman bit bitterly at the kid, making him sneer.

"Cough it up, grandpa."

Glaring at the teen, he shook his head. "I don't have anything on me."

"Stop bullshitting me, Mr. Fifty-bucks-for-a-hotdog."

Of course it had been a bad idea, a stupid one, and of course he had been careless. Now he was about to get mugged. His life just got brighter by the hour, apparently. The kid was armed, so he leveled it. Thought hard for a moment. Maybe he shouldn't give him the money, allow him to shoot and get it over with. It would have been a win/win situation for the bloke. But he was sweating. Sweating in the freezing night; he wasn't going to shoot. He was probably out on some dare. Arthur sighed and fetched for his envelope. Nothing that French asshole gave him ever brought anything good. He gave him the money. But before the kid could make a run for it, a third party startled them both.

"If I were you, I'd give the nice man his stuff back, punk." Arthur's eyes shot towards the newcomer, his eyes pleading, trying to warn him that the kid was armed. The stranger either didn't notice it, or just didn't care. He stood before the bench, hips to the side, hands dipped into the pockets of his blue sweater, a smug smile on his face.

"Or what?" The kid got to his feet, walking up to the stranger, bumping him chest to chest. "What you gonna do about it, huh?"

Ever so casually, the other popped out his phone and flashed it at the kid. "All I gotta do is press the screen right… here. And you're done for."

"Is that a threat? The screen's broken, idiot."

"Hell yeah, it is. And it still works." The kid leveled his eyes towards the taller man and forced a nod, throwing the envelope on the floor and breaking out into a run into the bushes, shouting back a curse. "Little fucker." The man turned towards the Briton who had now gotten to his feet, probably to kiss him and call him his hero, but instead got himself a healthy shove. "Oh, hey! The hell was that for?"

"He was armed you dimwitted dolt!"

"Way to talk to the person who just saved your cash. And probably even your life."

"I don't… Well." Arthur huffed, indignant, and pulled on his coat; adjusting it slightly. He angled his head to the side, cheeks turning slightly pink, and not because of the cold. "Thank you for that. Even if it was completely irresponsible of you." He quickly added.

The newcomer, who now flashed a million dollar smile, cocked his head to the side with mirth. "Why you Brits always talk like you have a stick up your asses?"

"Fuck you."

"Nice, rude too."

"Look, boy; I appreciate your effort at playing hero, but I should be going now. I don't want any more run ins."

"Next time, don't pull out a fifty for a hotdog and then just walk into Central Park."

Arthur stared at him, assessing the stranger before it clicked. Mussed blonde hair, crooked glasses framing blue eyes…. "Are you stalking me?"

The blonde blinked, taken aback by the sudden deduction. "Wha—No, man, I'm not. I just saw you and I thought—"

"I told your friend I'd pay for the phone. My most sincere apologies; I wasn't aware it was yours."

"Yeah, well, you see, I kind of— _what_?" The American paused for a moment. "How'd you know?"

"You were the one that arrived just as I left the café, am I right? Arthur Kirkland. I feel like I fall deeper in debt with you hour after hour." Arthur extended his hand, his gentlemanly manners in place, a somewhat forced smiled plastered on his face. Alfred's heart nearly stopped at that _I fall deeper in_ part, but kept his mind as he pulled out his slick hand, and shook the stranger's.

"Alfred Jones."

"A pleasure."

"Again with the stick. Come one, man. Loosen up." Blue eyes watched in fascination as one of those huge eyebrows twitched. It was actually kind of cute.

"Have a good night, Mr. Jones." Came the taught reply as he turned on his heels and headed back towards the entrance of the park. An hour and aching feet utterly wasted. He should have just gone home and shot himself. Maybe he would; it was never too late to do so. It was a shame he didn't own any weapons of the sort. Maybe of those nicely sharp steak knives—

"—really one of the best in all of Time Square." Arthur stopped walking, blinking several times as he twisted his head to stare at the young man walking by his side.

"Excuse me?"

"Are you even listening?"

"My apologies, I'm afraid I wasn't. I've had a lot on my mind… Horrible day."

"That sucks, man." The softening of those cerulean eyes went unnoticed. Arthur may have been short, and kind of scrawny, with good manners but a terrible temper, but he was cute. Attractive, being the better word. Even those eyebrows balanced out his overly feminine features, making him look a bit manlier, even sophisticated. And that accent just sent chills down Alfred's spine. "If there's anything I can do to help, you know."

"Yes, by being on your way and leaving me be."

He seriously had to be PMSing. "And let you get mugged? No way, man. I'll keep you company to wherever it is you need to go. Got nothing better to do anyway."

"I don't need company."

"Actually… you look like you kind'a do."

Green eyes glared daggers at the youth. "That's none of your concern."

"You said it first." That shit-eating grin was starting to get on Arthur's nerves. He resumed his path, ignoring the blonde that continued his stride by his side. "How long you been in New York? Mustn't been long since you suck dealing with money. And really, Bert's hotdog's are the best, so next time you get hungry, just stop by Coney Island. And dude, don't even get me started on those corndogs! And the corn. Corn on the cob, best place to find it. Ever need a ride, just hook me up—"

"Would you please just shut up?" The outburst made several people stare; he was starting to get used to it. "I don't want anything, all right? I just want to get to my apartment and do something incredibly stupid. So please, shut that blithering mouth of yours."

"Something stupid, huh?" Alfred beamed. "Like sleeping with a stranger?"

"That's not halfway near as stupid." He answered without missing a beat. _Been there done that and never going back._

"Sounds to me like you've done it before. You don't look like a swinger."

"I'm not."

"Going home to your wife then?" The young blonde pushed on, intrigued at so many aspects of the English stranger. "Girlfriend? Boyfriend, even?" Arthur remained silent for a moment, as he continued on towards his place. "Want me to call a cab? You got a pretty serious limp there."

His sigh could have knocked over the German tourist in front of him. That boy was cutting that last thread of patience he had, especially when he was just reminded of his blasted feet. He dreaded the blisters he would find once he got back. "Do as you bloody please." And there was that grin again.

On the first attempt, Alfred managed to tag a cab, but someone rudely enough shoved him aside to take it. Being Arthur, he would've dragged them out by that stupid-ass scarf, but Alfred simply smiled and banged the hood as if wishing them a nice trip. The second was a keeper, and he called Arthur over like a kid dragging its parents to show them what masterpiece they'd done. It was rather endearing, but Kirkland didn't give a shit.

"It's complicated."

"Huh?" Alfred answered most intelligently as he shut the door behind him. "What is?"

"Boyfriend."

"Oh." Getting comfortable while Arthur told the cab driver his address, Alfred turned to look at him steadily. He looked tired in more ways than one, and it made him wonder. He wasn't crushed by the new knowledge though, more like thrilled. So Arthur liked men; that was a good thing. Not that he was gay, or was interested. Just out of curiosity. "Not bad for a business man."

"It could be much better."

"No, I mean, you're pretty fly."

"Fly?"

"Yeah, like, nice looking. Good job, a boyfriend that's maybe a total asshole, night owl; I mean, how old are you?"

"That's none of your business."

"So you're not a spring chicken; but it gets better with age, right? I mean, you're pretty damn hot."

Arthur's hand fell from where it was perched on the window, holding up his head as he looked out into the night and turned towards the bright American with wide eyes, unable to believe his ears. That smiled looked so honest, it hurt. He stood staring, stunned, for a few more breaths, and then couldn't fight the corner of his lips struggling to turn up. How dare the stupid lad make him want to laugh. Alfred caught on, and burst out laughing, lightly punching the Brit's shoulder who in turn cracked a smile. "You are impossible."

"Oh, come on. Live a little. You know you wanna laugh."

Arthur let out a mix between a snort and chuckle, but then settled to laugh lightly, almost shy. With a sigh, he turned his eyes back towards the window, tilting up his head to look at the top of the buildings. Electric stars, since it was too bright to see the real ones miles above. He settled for that.

Taking the opportunity of the distraction, Alfred ogled the Brit. Really took in the fact that _there_ he was. In a cab, sitting beside him. Just at arm's reach. All he had to do is lean over in order to run his cool fingertips through the flaxen hair, lightly caress those worn but attractive cheekbones. A breath away from kissing those thin lips… from opening the coat, and slipping his hands up his chest, beneath the suit and crisp shirt…

"You're too young." The sudden words made him notice that Arthur was staring back at him; not shy or embarrassed, just smug.

"Huh?"

"You're too young. You're handsome, yes." Green eyes slid down the young man's body, inspecting the tall and well built frame. "The power behind those thighs must be amazing." Alfred, however, didn't take the compliment as gracefully as the Englishman. He gawked; pink brushing from his cheeks to the tip of his ear. "Point proven." With a chuckle, Arthur unbuckled himself and crawled over, pressing his chest to Alfred as he grinned, licking his lips inches away from the other's face. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get off now."

"Hell yeah."

"…Well?" Arthur pressed when the younger didn't move. He looked utterly lost. "I mean, off _the cab_." A blink later, and the blue eyed youth was scrambling for his seatbelt. It was then that it clicked. Arthur wasn't leaning over him in an attempt to be seductive… He was just trying to open the door.

"Ah... haha… My bad." Once unbuckled and the door open, he stumbled out clumsily, holding the door while Arthur paid the taxi and stepped out. "I owe you the fare. Didn't pop out another fifty, did ya?"

"Screw you." He retorted haughtily. "Don't worry. I owe you much more than that. It's the least I can do." Attempting to smile, he made for the entrance of the building. "You may quit following me now. I know my way."

"I'll escort you to your apartment." Again, that giddy, childish voice rung in his ears, making him want to twitch.

"Suit yourself, Mr. Stalker." He was rewarded with a laugh.

A greeting from his neighbor, and three flights of stairs later, the Briton stood before his door, his back to it as Alfred daringly leaned in, both hands by Arthur's head. "You should take better care of yourself, stranger. I may be a hero, but I won't always be there to lend a hand."

Arthur tried to find this hot. Sexy even. But he just couldn't. Sure the American was quite a sight; and he could just imagine the raw power and stamina trapped within that teenaged body. But he was just that; a child. He settled with a smile, and tilting his head coyly to the side. Rude, gentlemanly, but a flirt. And he played his cards pretty damn well. "I'll make sure of it. Take better care of myself, I mean. Thank you again, for being kind enough to escort me, Mr. Jones."

"Makes me sound old. Call me Alfred and we're even. But don't sweat it, babe." A short silence fell then, making Alfred drum his fingers against the door while Arthur continued to steadily look at him. He looked so bloody familiar. Sure they had seen each other at the café, but something tugged at the back of his mind. "About what you said…"

"Concerning?"

"The too young thing…"

"I'm sure you're not even legal for a one-night stand."

"Wouldn't be the first."

"How old are you, really?"

Alfred drummed his fingers again. "I'll be twenty one in July. Technically an adult."

"You're still technically a minor."

"I technically look old enough."

"And I can still technically go to jail for statutory rape."

"That's only till I'm eighteen." The staring went on, but it was a lighthearted one. Childish bickering that made those green eyes nearly glow, and it made Alfred breathless to watch them. Nearly an hour and he already knew that it wouldn't be possible to stay away from the Brit for too long. He wondered what was on Arthur's mind at that moment. "Okay, fine. Don't do me then, even though it's so obvious you want to."

"My boyfriend wouldn't approve." That stopped Alfred dead in his tracks. He had forgotten about that very important detail. Drumming his fingertips, yet again, against the door, he straightened out, letting his arms fall back to his sides, slipping his hands in the sweater's pocket. Arthur gave a little sigh; not annoyed, but… rather let down. He bumped his head against the door and smiled pitifully. "Get yourself someone your age, lad. Someone who could last and not be old enough to be your father."

"No way, man. Dad's way older than you are, so don't sweat it." A half-hearted glare made him straighten up so more, putting his hands in the air in the universal sign of defeat. "All right, all right. You're boyfriend's lucky I have such patience." He flashed the Englishman a grin. "Cause I will get you."

Arthur laughed at that, patting the other's shoulder before fetching his keys from his pocket. "If I had a quid for every time I heard that, I'd be living in a bloody penthouse." He opened to door and stepped halfway inside, turning to look at the gorgeous stranger still standing in the hall. "You are a very handsome young man, Alfred. Very kind. Find yourself someone worthwhile. Someone one worth living for, would you. Thank you for your company, yet again." And he finally stepped inside, shutting the door softly, missing the muttered _'I already have'_ the American lad had just allowed to slip out.

Alfred's smile immediately fell when the door clicked shut, going weak at the knees like some kind of school girl. Those drama classes had really paid off in situations such as does. The amount of bravado and suaveness he had just portrayed was but a properly executed front. He had been a nervous wreck acting on impulse; like most of the things he did. But he was glad. Proud. Heck, overjoyed. He had seen him again. Spoken face to face for what seemed like ages, even if it was just a measly hour. That made him crack a smile. So what if he was taken. He was Alfred Fucking Jones. All he had to do was work a proper kind of magic and the—

"Alfred?" Sad blonde turned back towards the door to see Arthur sticking his head out most comically. "If there is…— Is there any way I could… possibly contact you?"

With a grin, Alfred pulled out a card and a pen from his pocket, placing it on the wall; he scribbled down a number and handed it over to the Englishman. "Call me anytime you want, Kirkland."

Taking the wrinkled card, Arthur looked down on the messy handwriting. "Of course. Don't let me keep you much lon—"

His words were cut off by the unfamiliar sensation, of having gentle lips pressed softly against his in what was perhaps the most chaste kiss he'd ever had. Alfred lingered for a moment longer, lips hovering just above Arthur's, before sighing against them and pulling away. Kissing a stranger seemed far out, even for him; but Arthur… there was something about Arthur that just blew him away. And he knew he wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he hadn't kissed those lips at least once in his life. God only knew when he would get such an opportunity again. "Good night, Arthur." And with that, he walked away, leaving a stunned Briton in his wake.

Shutting the door, Arthur leaned against it for a brief moment before taking to the shower for a nice steaming bath to soak his feet and cool down that insistent tugging in his stomach. After that and some tea, he crawled into bed, tangling himself in the silk sheets that felt delicious against his cold skin.

Nearly midnight.

And he smiled.

A soft, nearly sleepy smile as he rolled onto his side, taking his pillow and pressing it to his face as he flushed at the thought. Kissed by a stranger. And never had a kiss been sweeter or gentler. He brushed his lips against the soft pillow subconsciously, and noted that it wasn't the same. It would never be the same. It had been a once in a lifetime thing, and it made him happy if only for one night.

That night, he was sure he'd dream. Dream of beautifully bright cerulean eyes and hair as bright as sunshine. Dream of strong arms holding him while he slept…— He blinked his eyes open with an incredulous snort. A hearty laugh followed soon after as he rolled onto his back; it finally hit him. He remembered where he had seen Alfred before, and that just made that evening nth times more spectacular than it had been. His little crush from months ago had returned without him even noticing, and had granted him the most adorable kisses he had ever experienced.

Shutting his eyes, he began to drift with a smile on his face. He had forgotten his suitcase back at Francis' apartment, but he couldn't give a fuck. His night, heck, his month had just been made. Maybe he would give life another chance, but just one more. And with a final sigh, he fell into a peaceful sleep.

His cigarettes untouched in his coat pocket.

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_To be Continued._

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_AN__:__My updates are always so ridiculously late, I've noticed. Happy belated Christmas/New Years, guys! Hope this new year will bring what your heart desires, blah, blah, blah, chitty chitty bang bang. ;D Be safe!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Falling in Love in New York City_

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CHAPTER 6

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Slow techno music wafted through the air of the white room, making the subjects of that morning sway lightly to the catchy rhythm as consecutive flashes of light caught their movements. Shoes screeched against the white polished floor, screaming 'amateur' to anyone who walked into the exclusive art lab that on that day had been turned into a photo studio. Both the photography and modeling students had been brought in to do some hands on research. Each student would be graded according to how many poses and shots from those that were listed they were able to achieve. It seemed like a promising day.

"Keep eating like that and you won't be able to fit into those designer jeans anymore." Long silver hair clouded his line of view as he reached for another donut. "Seriously, Alfred."

"It's just one donut, Nat. How much harm can it do?" The blonde flashed his classmate a smile while serving himself some punch. "They wouldn't have put food in a photo session if it wasn't meant to be eaten. Haven't gotten a thing in my stomach since breakfast."

Pale blue eyes stared at him with a permanent frown etched into them. Where Alfred was popular for his charisma and bright attitude, Natalya was best known for her stoic features. All grace and aggressive elegance. "That's because it's for the photography students. Not the modeling students."

"Aw, come on. Don't be afraid of putting on a little weight. Nothing you can't lose later."

"Not all of us have your metabolism." The young woman stared at the table longingly before heading back to her other classmates; away from the temptation.

"Suit yourself then. More for me." Alfred flashed himself a grin and reached for another donut, tasting the sugary coat on his tongue as it melted away. He loved eating; it was as simple as that. If it tasted good, he didn't think twice about chugging it down. Like his old man once said: 'when you die, all you take with you is what you've seen and what you've eaten.' No words could ever ring truer.

His punch was bitter, though. It wasn't that it tasted bad, he thought, just that it could have been sweeter. The grin faded into a small and knowing smile as he caught the unintentional metaphor. Not bittersweet; more like bitter but good. Delicious, even. Just like _him_. _'I think I'm going crazy. Why the hell did I even do that?'_ Alfred hadn't given it much thought once he had reached his apartment the night before. He felt he'd probably spoil the evening if he decided to over-think the events that lead him into becoming a grinning goon on the way back. He wasn't stupid; he knew what a crush was and what it felt like. He'd just never thought it possible, to fall for a stodgy old man.

_Did that make him… gay?_

The smile vanished in its entirety. _Of course it did…_ He couldn't be. It was just a man crush. Perfectly understandable and healthy. And normal.

"-… over here, da-ze."

Alfred gasped when someone slammed into him, dragging his attention back to the now. "Hey, what the hell." The donut slipped from his hand and onto his shoe. "That was rude."

"I've been yelling from across the room! Your turn's up, man."

"Cool it, mister Korean wonder. Just got a little distracted." The blonde beamed down at his friend, patting him on the head.

"I'm not gonna miss lunch again because of you. Get your ass on that set so I can take the photos already and get it over with." The kid gestured his camera towards the white set of boxes neatly arranged against a white background. It was all intentionally placed in the large room, across the wall-long rows of glass windows. Apparently the glare from the morning sun made it harder for the photographs to be properly taken; it was all part of the exam.

"You mean my _fine_ ass, right? Right, Kimchi?" He laughed out, skipping towards the set before the shorter male could hit him.

"Don't call me that, da-ze."

"Dude, it's easier than saying Im Young Soo all the damn time. Hit me up, baby." Rolling his eyes, the short brunette began the session; but after the first few unmotivated shots, Alfred sagged into the decorative seat. "Can somebody put a song that doesn't want me to commit suicide? Something more upbeat?"

"Now you're just being a brat."

"Aren't I always?" The infamous grin was back. "Why not one of yours, Kimchi?"

The photographer didn't protest. Instead, he let the camera hang from his neck while he rummaged his CD case, popping a disc into the radio once he decided on one suitable for his classmate's demand. Upbeat hip hop blasted through the surround sound system, techno lacing into the catchy beat and making everyone's foot tap along. "Satisfied?"

"Damn straight! That's what I'm talking 'bout."

"Thank God." Natalya added from the sidelines, crossing her long legs as she leaned back, ready to enjoy the view. It was no secret she had her pale eyes set on the American dream cockily posing for the camera. Who didn't want a piece of Alfred Jones? She was just sure she'd be the one, and with good reason too. No one could compare to her stunning looks and curvaceous body; she completed him. Now, if only he were less oblivious to that fact.

"Come on, Al. Spunk it up a bit. Give me all you've got." Young Soo spoke up over the music, moving across the room for different angle shots. "Wow the instructors like you always do."

"Should I just smile then?" Alfred stood up straight, crossing his ankles coyly while framing his chin with his forefinger and thumb, a wink and a smile. The brunette snapped the shot. "Or should I show off my rockin' abs?" He held his jacket open, showing off the polo underneath, corking his hip to the side. Another flash.

"Give me something more. The set is yours."

"Something more, huh? Well let's see." He made a show of thinking it over, which earned a few more shots. To be honest, his mind was placed on other things entirely; his attention kept wandering to someone else. Alfred would have to improvise to get a good grade, and improvising was one of the things he did best. "Am I the only one that thinks this too… what's the word, bland?" He strutted over to the window; holding on to both sides as he leaned over to look outside, but instead turned his head to look behind him with a smug smirk. Three more photos.

After kicking back and posing in a chair, he dramatically moved across the room freely, leaning against the walls in old gangster poses. After snatching a hat off his Italian friend, he posed as if holding a long gun under his arm. "I call this one, the Public Enemy." That got a few laughs from the other's there. Leave it to Alfred, bringing life and fun into something so monotonous. "Let's see… what else. Someone, anyone! Suggestions!"

"On the floor!" Someone called out, triggering a whole new fit of laughter and a few giggles. The females huddled in, whispering in low voices, but their eyes still trained on the American stud.

"Nice one." Unceremoniously, Alfred let himself fall onto the floor and leaned back, propped up on his elbows. That pose alone earned itself a few dozen shots.

"Come on, guys. Group shot!" Cheers erupted across the room as most of the modeling students followed the suggestion, making their way towards the center of the room and just diving onto the floor. Not missing the opportunity, one girl draped her arm across Alfred's chest, nearly pressing nose to nose had it not been for Natalya who shoved her off as discreetly as possible. Alfred remained blissfully oblivious of the glares shot between the females.

The boys posed together, and then mingled with the girls for a few more poses and pictures before getting shooed off by Young Soo. "Y'all already got your chance, guys. Quit ruining my shots, Alfred's mine."

"Aw, Kimchi. Do I need to take you out to dinner now?"

"Yes, in fact. Mexican on you, da-ze."

Without a moment's hesitation, decorum returned to the models and quickly retook their seats on the sidelines, letting the team work for their grade. "Bummer. Bet those photos came out nice."

"You'll see them once they get graded. Now let's just wrap this up so I can go lunch."

"Snap away, man. Snap away."

* * *

"Dude; where the hell were you yesterday? I called you like, a million times and you didn't pick up the damn phone! I thought you were dead."

"You left a message at one in the damn morning… Who the hell leaves a message at one in the damn morning?"

"Yeah, and? Normal people do, idiot. I had to leave something for when you woke up, duh."

"What is it, Gilbert? What was so important that you had to leave a message at one in the damn morning, huh?" Alfred pocketed his mirror with an overdramatic sigh, after having had checked his hair and fixed his glasses. The shoot had left him askew, not that he cared. The bed-head look suited him. Just like every other look in existence.

"I couldn't open the mayo."

Blue eyes gazed, torn between amusement, irritation, and something akin to… the art of murder. "Damn good thing I left the fucking thing off. Screen's messed up anyway." He paused for a moment, shoving the albino's shoulder. "And why the hell does that concern me?"

"Nothing. Just wanted to rant about it."

"And you just couldn't wait till the next morning. You're in your days, aren't you?"

"Fuck off. You're the one that just vanished into the night. I found poor Kiku all alone in his apartment. Some friend you are." Gilbert trudged through the air conditioned halls of the college, absently flipping through a video game magazine as he whined to Alfred. He was still growing, and he needed food. Greasy food. He thought it important to tell Alfred. "So are you gonna tell me, hotshot?"

"You're so nosy."

"This coming from you?"

"Shut up."

"Hanging out with your faggot daddy?"

"I said cut it out, Gilbert." Alfred's face heated at the comment, reminding himself exactly why he went by his biological father's name. He was in no way proud to call Bonnefoy his 'dad'.

"Or what? What're you gonna do? Beat my face in?" He skipped up the steps, grabbing one of the cheerleaders' tush with an awkward wink, earning himself a giggle or two. "Ladies, why so hot?"

"Why so slutty?" Muttered, but Gilbert caught them. Being an egotistical, conceited blonde himself, he was sure picky when it came to the opposite sex. Something the German had no trouble with. The blonder, the easier. Stereotypes, stereotypes. How he loved it when they were right. "I was kind of helping someone out. A friend." The American let out at last, promptly ignoring the females that sent winks his way. Maybe he should flirt with them…

"A friend that obviously wasn't Kiku."

"I know more people other than you two, geez." Alfred flashed the girls a million dollar grin before crossing the doors into the cafeteria. He really loved his little private college. His stepdad for one hadn't been too ecstatic about him skipping out on an upscale university to go to a more private institute. No use in spending countless years studying for shit. He had better things to do in life. Besides, Alfred had natural talents he needed to flaunt to its maximum. Like his looks. The teen just loved to strut his stuff for the camera, loved how each girl on campus swooned over him whenever he walked by, interested or not. Maybe it was his looks, his charisma or his money; he didn't give a damn.

Gilbert pointedly ignored the words as he made his way towards a particular student, smoothly sliding his arms across her back and leaning in. Creepily sniffing at long, curly locks that fell in waves over lean shoulders. Peach with a touch of coconut; always the same. "Hey there, you pretty thing."

"Keep your hands to yourself, loser."

"Aw, come on. I know you want a piece of the Gil."

"Now that sounded disgusting." Alfred rolled his eyes while shoving the albino away, leaning against the wall across the young woman. "This guy really needs to get a life. How are you, babe? How's Roderich doing?"

Brown curls bounced as she shook her head, a harmonious laugh reaching all of their ears. That singular laugh that could only belong to a singer-to-be. "He's doing well. Thanks for asking, Al."

"Haven't seen him in a while though." Several other students walked by, stopping by the blonde's side to give him a firm handshake or even a fist-bump. "He's bailed on rehearsal the past two weeks, I've heard."

"Oh, that. He's been having some… issues—" Green eyes looked off as she fidgeted uncomfortably, but neither male seemed to have noticed.

Gilbert pressed on. "So what do you say, Lizzie? I'll play your piano while you sing my note."

"First of all. It's Elizaveta, not Lizzie. Second, I agree with Al. You are just disgusting."

"Ouch, man. Burn."

"Fuck it. It's your loss, baby."

"Dude, listen to me. If you want to land a lady like Liz—Elizaveta, you've got to be sensitive. Elegant and charming, you know." Alfred was kind enough to explain as he gestured his hand towards the young woman standing before them, arms crossed at her lower stomach.

"I'm standing right here, you know." Green eyes narrowed dangerously, irritation nearing its peak. She really didn't mind Alfred; he was polite in a childish sort of way. It was Gilbert that made her thin eyebrows twitch. That stupid, perverted and downright vulgar creature.

"You know I'm messing with you. We know you have eyes solely for Roderich."

"Not that I really care for that. I'll make you fall for the awesomeness that is me."

"Get a life, man." Alfred shoved him for the nth time that morning. He was starting to see a pattern. "Now, I don't know about you guys, but I'm getting hungry." Clapping his hands together, he rubbed them as if fending off the cold.

"When aren't you?"

"What's the big deal? I'm a growing guy, I need my food."

"That's exactly why I wanted to tell you about the mayo, man! See? You do understand me after all." Gilbert high-fived him as they jogged over to the line, grabbing some sodas from the refrigerators. The German didn't need ask what his friend was about to order. One hamburger with extra everything.

"These two are just hopeless."

After an hour long lunch break filled with more arguments of the night before and Gilbert's mayonnaise meltdown, they were back in class. They meet up with Kiku for history, and then split up at the next block. Alfred doodled his way through biology and slept through French lab. Not that he needed much of either since he was somewhat good in bio and was almost fluent in the language. He was sure he'd ace the classes, whether he paid attention or not.

By four in the afternoon, the tall blonde was free. Everyone was already outside waiting for him, including a moody Natalya that sat by the benches powdering her nose.

"And finally the great Jones is out of class. I say we hit the movies for an early showing then crash Kiku's place for some video games." Gilbert grinned at his apparently brilliant suggestion which no one, in fact, protested to. Maybe Kiku had, but no one seemed to have noticed. "So, Lizzie. You buy the popcorn, I get your drink."

"Forget you, I'm going home."

"And leave me with this herd of hyenas, I don't think so. You go, I go too." Natalya was quick to complain. She didn't mind hanging out with the boys if Alfred was there, but there was no way she was about to damage her reputation by hanging out with them _alone_. Hell, you'd risk your reputation just by being in league with the idiotic German kid. Much to her dismay, if Elizaveta bailed, then she'd do so too.

"I've got to check on Roderich." The brunette murmured just loud enough for those closest to hear, Natalya instantly nodded out of obligation.

Gilbert instantly opened his mouth to retort but Alfred immediately grabbed a strong hold of his shoulder, nearly fracturing it with the force alone. Trust the American to be a perfect gentleman when he wanted to. "You go right ahead then, girls. It'll just be a guys' night out then."

"A guys' night out— without you." Kiku spoke up finally, and all heads immediately turned to him in question.

Alfred dramatically pressed the palm of his hand to his chest, feigning being insulted. "Oh, I see how it is. One night and you already disowned me as a friend. Why, Kiku? I thought we were buddies, dude."

"A-Alfred-san…" The Asian stuttered when all eyes turned to him. Not all of them too friendly. "Don't you have to go down to the coffee shop? Remember?"

The grin just dropped from existence when it hit him. He had a job now. The reality of it hadn't set in until just then, when he was faced with the obligation of ditching his friends… to go work. The closest thing he'd ever had to a working experience was probably a _'take your kid to work'_ day back when he was ten. Francis had made him sit behind his desk and slip papers into a paper shredder. And let it be known, it was freaking fun. But he wasn't about to shred papers at a coffee shop. Sure he was a people person; he'd be bringing in costumers by the dozens… but he still had to ditch a night out with the guys. A few nights out. A whole damn week's worth of nights out.

"We can always stop by the coffee shop and then be on our way, eh?" Gilbert asked with a crooked smirk, not getting the sudden frown that made its way onto Alfred's features. "No big."

"It's not that."

"Well?" Elizaveta prodded a bit, intrigue winning her over. Red was beginning to spread across the American's pale cheeks. This was just about to get good.

"Oh ho ho. I have a feeling… this is why Alfie just… _poof_… vanished last night. Am I right? Huh, am I?" Mock punching Alfred's side, Gilbert winked, earning himself another shove. "Out with it, pretty boy."

"Well, it's… You see. Just… stuff. And stuff. You know?" He scratched his cheek, laughing nervously at the heavy attention he was now getting. "I kind of… got a job… and stuff." The entire group went silent. "What?"

"Wait. You're telling me that… you got a job? Alfred F. Jones got a job? What is this world coming to? Is it twenty-twelve without me noticing?" Elizaveta propped her hands on her hips, shaking her head incredulously. Her mouth was agape, trying to spit out the laughter that was still struggling to break free. The others' beat her to it when they finally busted out noisily.

"It's really not that funny, guys. Normal people get jobs, you know."

"You're far from normal, dude. You freaking bleed cash. The hell's the big idea?"

"No, _I_ don't _'bleed cash'_. My old man, does. I just don't feel like going to him for every little thing." Kiku stared at the blonde momentarily before shifting away. Pieces were slowly slipping into place.

"Since when?"

"Since now, _Gilbert_. So just shut the hell up and leave me alone."

"Oh, how defensive."

Alfred shoved his way through the small crowd, not bothering to look back at his so called friends. He waved them off and shoved his hands into his pockets, fighting off the sudden annoyance that settled onto his shoulders. He tried to keep in mind the reason why he even signed up for the job, but not even the thought of seeing those gorgeous eyes again made his mood lighten. Why was he even in a bad mood in the first place? He joked around all the time. Gilbert has said worse things before, even. "The hell's wrong with me." Trudging reluctantly through the campus gates, he started his long walk towards his final destination.

* * *

"I'm quite sure I don't have to be too thorough on this. We have Tall, Grande, and Venti. Once the order is put into the computer, make sure to ask for the costumer's name and write it on the cup size of choice. Then pass it to your partner who'll proceed to make the actual coffee or tea." The manager's strong voice made Alfred fidget uncomfortably. Those brown eyes seemed to stare right into his soul as he broke down the rules for his newest employee. "If the costumer requires any sort of pastry, you are authorized to serve it. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." The young man saluted before dropping his hand to tie his green apron at mid back.

"Excellent. Marco will be keeping an eye on you for the rest of the evening. He'll be in charge of teaching you how to work the cash register and other things until you complete your training." From behind his new boss, another young man waved. Alfred greeted him with a smile. "Good luck, son."

With a nod, the short man disappeared into his office leaving Jones with his new co-worker, who smelled strongly of tobacco. They shook hands. "Alfred Jones at your service."

"Marco Rodriguez." He didn't say another word as he turned on his heels and headed towards the front of the café.

Alfred was left alone for a moment, blinking, slightly thrown off at the not so friendly behavior of his work partner for the shift. He hadn't said anything wrong, he was sure. Sure he had thought of commenting something on the color of his skin; maybe ask him where he was from due to his strong accent. Was he a part-time mind reader? He was rambling. Furrowing his eyebrows, Alfred shook his head and walked out; determined to make some peace. No one disliked Alfred Jones. It just wasn't possible. His mind couldn't even compute the fact.

The evening at the shop was fairly quiet, nothing abnormal for a weeknight he was told. It was an easy and mellow flow that did wonders for his training. In less than an hour, he was already taking orders and dispatching cakes and cold-cut sandwiches. Throughout the evening he came to understand that Marco had nothing personal against him, that it was just his way of being. Weary of strangers was all. But before the night was over, they joked and yelled out orders like life-long mates, laughing at the ridiculous amount of costumers that attempted to flirt with the newest recruit.

All in all, it proved to be a fun experience for Alfred. A new one that he was sure was going to take some time getting used to, but he could see himself continuing working there for the rest of the semester. Or for as long as he wished. Marco promised him that if things went well for the next couple of days, he'd be honored to train him in the coffee making business. "You'd make a good barista, Al. If you can hold still long enough to steam the drink." Alfred had to grin at that. He liked his job.

Twilight gave way into night, and the city lights were just as breathtaking as always even through the fogged glass. Armed with a bottle of Windex and a clean rag, Alfred moved across the nearly empty café, polishing the tables with exquisite care. He smiled at a mother sitting in one of the larger booths with her young daughter, apparently taking advantage of the wireless internet for her homework or something of the sort. While cleaning the table behind their own, he stole a glance at the laptop. They were using a webcam. On the screen was a man, waving with a bright smile with a sunny background. The dad, most likely. Away on business and— Alfred swallowed hard and continued his way.

"Done already?"

"Pretty much. All the other tables are still taken. Guess I'll wait them out." Leaning over the counter, Alfred placed the bottle on a shelf, throwing the rag along with it. "Got anything else for me?"

"Nah. Just another hour till closing. Hang around and clean up whatever gets out of place. That way we won't have much of a mess after it's lights out." Marco was restocking the cups and cardboard holders, but took a moment to glance down at the blonde. "What's with the face? Tired already?"

"What makes you think I'm tired?" He half laughed, half scoffed at the statement.

"You look it."

Alfred quirked his the corner of his lip in an indifferent expression and shrugged. "It's been a long couple of nights I guess. Had forgotten I had to stop by today so I kind of went to bed late."

"You looking for someone?" Blue eyes narrowed at the dark-skinned employee. He _must_ be a mind reader. "You've been hawking the crowd ever since you got here." Marco smirked once he got a load of the look on Alfred's face. He loved it when he was able to read people like a book, and be right most of the times.

"Just taking note. Noticing why people refer to New York as the melting pot of the US. I mean, have you even noticed how many different people step into this place? It's amazing."

"Stop bullshitting me and tell me what's up."

"What the hell makes you think I'm bullshitting?"

"Blue eyed, blonde haired white boy speaking as if he understands shit about the world."

"That's racist!"

"Not more racist than what you thought when you first laid eyes on me."

Alfred stared at him, dead on. A look of total horror on his face as he slowly mouthed out the next words. "Are you a psychic?"

Marco snorted at that, taking the rag his co-worker had disposed of before and wiping the counter. "No, I just study people. It's my major."

College student; that explained a lot. "Psychology?"

"Anthropology."

"The hell does one thing have to do with the other?"

"That's exactly why I didn't believe the whole melting pot theory."

Pressing his fingertips to his temples, Alfred sighed. "Okay, okay, fine. You got me."

"Well? Out with it, man."

Leaning against the counter, the American crossed his arms in front of his chest as he scanned the surrounding area. He briefly took note of the group of businessmen huddled in a far off corner, talking business apparently, some typing away at their computer while others tapped on their PDAs. No sign of a short head of blonde hair. A few teenagers sat by the door, talking in low voices as they pointed out at some article of a magazine that was splayed on the table before them. He recognized one of them from his modeling class.

Marco was patient. He stared calmly as the blonde struggled to find something to say. It was far too easy to read the young man. Even with his carefree façade, that wasn't false most of the times, it was easy to see that something else lied in the shadows.

"Just waiting for _The One_ to simply walk in through those doors!" Alfred beamed at the other, scratching his cheek as he said so. He slammed his hand down on the counter, grinning like a madman enjoying a cup of ice cream. "It's almost closing time and I'm hungry. Fix me up a latte will ya'?"

"Sure thing, bro." Without pressing the matter, Marco went about and pulled out a piece of chocolate cake while at it. "On me."

"Thanks, man." His smile never faltered as he slipped a plastic spoon into the deliciously moist cake. Its taste and feel reminding him of just how wonderful Arthur's lips had felt against his the night before.

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_To be Continued._

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	7. Chapter 7

_Falling in Love in New York City_

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CHAPTER7

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"I honestly do not want to be here. I can think of a million other places I would much rather be. And do you want to know why? Because of you. So don't even begin to fancy the idea of whisking me off to some dastardly cottage in the middle of nowhere, because I wouldn't even dream of going to the _corner store_ with you."

"Arthur, _mon cher_, please listen to me."

"No. The answer will continue to be no independent of the threats you'll be able to muster. Do not waste your breath on such a ludicrous idea." Arthur slammed the glass door open as he stormed into the office, promptly ignoring the dozens of eyes and ears now perked up to pick up the argument he was having with his boss. Some of the employees snickered, others sighed in annoyance. Another lovers' quarrel; they seemed to host at least three a month. They got worse as time went by, too. Flinging the suitcase tightly grasped in his hand dangerously close to Francis' face, he skidded to a halt between one of the aisles of cubicles. He shoved his index finger, hard, against the Frenchman's chest. "And that is final. Not another word." Venom dripped from the words.

Blue eyes stared at the flustered Briton, indignation bubbling close to the edge. "It is simply a business meeting. I cannot comprehend why you are being so stubborn about this!" Francis kept his cool while running long fingers through his loose locks of hair, sighing in order to vent the frustration and, what he thought was, obvious sexual tension.

"Business meeting my arse." Arthur turned again, making his way towards his private office once the heaviness of everyone's stares became too obvious to ignore. "You said so yourself. It was meant as a nice and warm and relaxing vacation to southern France. Some place where I could clear my head from all the venomous bitter hate that courses through my bloody fucking veins."

The flush on his cheeks was also too obvious to ignore. Francis thought it to be endearing, thinking that Arthur was just being his old difficult self. "You look so handsome when you flush like that."

"Fuck you, Francis. Fuck you and everything that comes out of that mouth of yours." Cranking the door to his office open with more force than was necessary, Arthur threw his suitcase in the nearest chair. Without giving it a thought, he reached for the flowers that sat innocently on his desk and dumped it into the bin. No apology was offered in his behalf.

"Ouch."

"Now if you'd be so kind. These are my work quarters and I would very much like to get my work done before I get home." Taking a seat behind his small desk, Arthur turned on his computer and fetched some papers from a nearby drawer, promptly ignoring the Frenchman still standing before him. Arms crossed at his chest.

Pale gray walls did nothing for the Briton's mood. The monotony that came encased with those four walls poisoned his already bitter state of mind. And the Frenchman only served as an amplifier to that constant desire to just run away from it. He was a grown man who had lived his life and thus far was not happy with the results of it, but he had learnt to deal. Had been through university, graduated, wasn't exactly holding the highest of posts in the company but was pretty well up there. Decent pay check, a comfortable apartment, up-to-date car. All was well beside the not unusual credit card debt. Perfectly normal life, once he thought about it. Arthur's problem lied within his twisted love life, and even as a grown man it took more of a toll than it should have.

"I like what you've done with the place. Gave it a nice… homely feel." Francis spoke up once the silence had settled for long enough and Arthur had begun typing away. He walked closer to the desk and absently spun the small Union Jack perched on a white mug that read _'Brits do it better'_ in bright red.

Arthur continued to type.

"Have I ever told you that the gray carpeting does wonders for your eyes? Not that they need much help, mind you. They are simply stunning."

Fluid typing was the only sound that filled the silence.

"You would really love it there, _mon cher_." The soft sigh that escaped the Frenchman's lips sounded genuine, but even then, Arthur seemed to not give a damn. Walking around the desk, Francis leaned against the cluttered edge, nudging the broody blonde's thigh with his knee. Shoving several papers to the side, he took the liberty to completely sit on it. He was the boss after all, he could have done whatever the hell he wanted and gotten away with it. Childish thing to do, yes, but there was no harm in living a little. Something he wished he could make Arthur understand. "It's very much like England, you know. Rolling hills as far as the eye can see…"

"Don't even dare." The sudden outburst, though quiet, startled him. "Do not compare my country to that debauched rat hole you call a home."

Though offended at the statement, Francis proceeded to inspect his nails. A longer silence settled then. Uncomfortable and charged. There was just no possible way to get through Arthur's defenses, no matter how unstable and weak they were. The man was just downright stubborn and unyielding. It was unfair that Francis had offered him so much and all he got in turn was bitter hate. He had offered him a three week escape to the country, away from the city life and day to day hustle and bustle of the streets, and he had turned it down without batting an eyelash.

Tapping the tip of his shoe when he neared his breaking point, Francis turned to look at the complete mess on Arthur's desk when something caught his eye. "You've got yourself a new ashtray." It wasn't a question, just a mindless statement. Picking up the small glass, he sniffed it curiously. It seemed unused.

"Why would I buy a new one when my own is perfectly fine? I just cleaned it out." The words were muttered. His mind was completely settled in his work, filling several phone numbers into the data bank.

Francis stopped to think for moment when a thought came across his mind unbidden. It had been several days since he had last seen his temporal lover smoke. He narrowed his eyes and thought a bit harder, before briefly shaking his head. No, he had seen him smoking just the other day. It just wasn't as frequent as usual. A soft smile settled on the male's lips as he slid down from his spot on the desk and moved beside Arthur, softly threading his fingers through short blonde hair.

The typing stilled instantly.

A kiss was pressed to his temple.

Arthur looked up, but his cheeks didn't color that time. It was too simple a kiss for Francis. It had seemed honest but something was looming. The Frenchman was beaming at him. His smiles were soft and seductive when they weren't amused and laced with some hint of ill intent; he didn't _beam_ at anyone. "What is it?"

"_Pardon_?"

"Why did you kiss me that way?"

"I would gladly kiss you another way."

He didn't grace him with an answer. But it wasn't the kind of silence that gave Francis that slight push to steal the kiss; it was the kind of silence that meant that, if he tried, he'd be castrated in less than a second. The Frenchman didn't mind it. Now he knew that Arthur was truly just being stubborn. He only pretended to dislike and be repulsed by his actions when deep down he was lifting a load off his shoulders. Slowly but surely, Francis' displays of affection were changing Arthur's outlook on life. So far, the chain smoking was chopped down to the occasional cigarette. It thrilled him and gave him the hope that by the end of the week, his little Briton would agree to be whisked off into the countryside.

Green eyes stared defiantly at the swooning man, so rudely perched on his desk again. The glare faltered though, as he took in the hue of those blue eyes. They were nothing like his. There was no innocence in them, no honesty even when he was being honest. Being the way he was, Bonnefoy was still a cold man.

His bitter mood that morning rested on the fact that he missed that little bit of honest attention that boy, Alfred, had given him a few nights past.

* * *

Days turned into weeks. Two weeks, to be more exact, of going to bed early, heading to class the next morning then heading straight for the coffee shop to work his evening shift. Saturday nights aside, Alfred only had the chance to see his friends during lunch break or class. His social life had taken a bit of a blow, but starting the coming week he'd have Tuesday's off as well. It wasn't that big a deal, but he'd handle. Marco had kept his promise and trained him into becoming one of the best baristas the café had ever hosted, much to his eternal enjoyment. Vanilla steamers, lattes, mochas, all types of tea, frozen coffee; you'd name it, he'd make it.

He became acquainted with a handful of the other employees as well. His boss adored him and how his looks just made all the girls flock over for two or three servings a day. During break, Alfred would read some of his text books in order to not fall behind in class whenever he wasn't feeling particularly lazy. He had gotten his phone replaced the weekend before, but made sure to keep the same number as a just in case. Of all his mates, only Kiku dropped by on a daily basis to see how he was doing, and for that Alfred was grateful. Though, Gilbert had stopped by once and opened up his big trap to make fun of him. It took all the self-control in the world to not spit in his coffee. He had behaved like a professional.

There had also been no sign of Arthur.

The thought of spotting the Brit in the crowd slipped into second priority as me focused on his work, but that didn't stop him from looking around every once in a while. He started to question why he had even bothered on taking up the job in the first place. All was said and done. All he had to do now was suck it up and be a man. Word spread pretty fast on campus too. The rich student with a part-time job. They made it sound like it was a crime, and it was pretty much sickening.

It was on a cold Wednesday night that Alfred felt the floor beneath his feet give way as he stood behind the counter taking an order. Blue eyes finally caught sight of the most dashing thing he had seen to date. He grunted when an elbow was driven into his side. "Hey!" Marco looked up at him less than amused. "Oh! Beg your pardon." Smiling crookedly, and blushing up to his ears, he turned to his costumer, asking for them to repeat the order as smoothly as was possible. This time he made sure to messily scribble down the name before shoving it into his Cuban friend's chest.

"What's the big idea?"

"I'm taking my break now."

"You just came in!"

"Do me the favor, please?" Alfred held his hands together pleadingly; pulling off his infamous puppy eyed stare as he walked backwards out of the serving area. A short glare later, he was waved off. Marco was perhaps one of the coolest guys he knew. He wasted no time.

Running his hands quickly through his hair, he tugged at his stubborn flyaway before promptly ignoring it. He took a moment to adjust his glasses and green-colored apron, and to make sure his shirt was properly put. The smell of coffee permanently stuck to him, and he was rather grateful for that. No need to feel self-conscious about smelling like dirt or sweat. Clearing his throat, he approached that one red booth by the fogged window, popping his smile into place. He looked like all a professional and he dearly hoped that made a better impression than last time.

"How may I help you on this fine evening, sir?"

Thick lashes fluttered in confusion for a moment when the costumer looked up, green eyes narrowing for a brief moment. Automatic reaction. Despite the sour look on those features, they softened a tad bit; a ghost of a smile. "I wasn't aware this café staffed waiters." That thick accent made the butterflies in Alfred's stomach wreak havoc.

The barista watched intently as Arthur set his briefcase on the booth before slipping in, mindful of his suit and tie. He was stunned. Taken off guard. Of all places, of all times, he did not expect to run into his… _acquaintance_ right there and then. It had been another cruddy day and it was just ridiculous to see just how that one phrase made it so much better.

Alfred smiled down at him, bright and sincere. "We don't, but I thought you'd probably appreciate the offer?" He looked stunning in a suit. Day by day it turned harder to believe that this was the same man he had danced with so long ago. So prim and proper.

Keeping a cool head, Arthur reached for his laptop. "In that case, I'll take a black tea latte." He tried his best to seem indifferent; it worked for the most part, but his lips continued to pull up at the corners. Giving up, he looked up at the bright blonde and gave him a polite smile. "And the sweetest piece you've got." He regretted saying the words the moment they escaped his lips. "Cake! The sweetest piece of cake you've got. It would be very much appreciated." Arthur nearly crawled beneath his booth as he adjusted his tie in embarrassment, heat spreading to every part of his body. He was acting like a teenager for Christ's sake; he needed to get it together.

It took Alfred a moment to get why his new favorite costumer was acting so flustered, and when he did, his cheeks pinked. Clearing his throat, he couldn't help the loud yet short laugh that escaped him, causing Arthur to look back at him in surprise. "Uh, well, we have a double chocolate fudge cake."

"Yes, that. I'll have a piece of that. A piece of that cake." The Briton continued to blabber as he tried to connect his laptop to the wireless internet service to no avail. Anything to not look at the young man standing by his side.

"All right, Mr. Kirkland. A black tea latte and a piece of double chocolate fudge cake. Back in a jiff." Alfred beamed down at him before casually walking back to the counter, grinning like a complete buffoon. This time, he did remember him. And he was totally blushing up a storm on top of it all. Maybe he did have a chance with the stodgy gentleman. Blue eyes narrowed at the thought; he was again thinking about hooking up with another dude.

To be honest, looking back to where he could see the small head of tussled blonde hair, he didn't give an honest damn. Arthur was handsome and polite. Polite when he wanted to be; mostly he was stubbornly rude. And even though he didn't feel remotely comfortable with that thought, it wasn't as bad as before.

The line of people had gone down, thankfully enough, as he set off to make Arthur's drink. Humming loudly to himself, he didn't notice a rather amused Marco staring at him from behind the cashier. "Oye, you're kind of swooning there, bro."

"No idea what you talkin' about."

"And there goes that clipped accent. You couldn't be more obvious if you tried." The dark-skinned man laughed as he passed a foam cup to Alfred, who in turned looked down at it confused. "Just cause lover boy came to pay you a visit doesn't mean you can slack off on the job. You've got drinks to serve."

A slight frown settled into place. Marco was right. He had work to do even if there were other baristas running the floor as well. "Geez, fine. I'll get to it then." And to his surprise, he didn't slug his way through. Alfred exploited his skills, preparing drinks at record speed and never missing a mixture. Except for that one order where he forgot to add the whip cream. "Happy now?"

"Just go make that guy's drink before he leaves." One of the other employees took over the orders as Marco grabbed a handful of cups. "I'll prepare the rest of the orders. You go clean or something before you accidently add something to another something."

"That made no sense." Alfred flashed him a grin as he served the tea. "But thanks for having my back, man."

"Don't make a habit out of it."

"I won't!" Squeezing his way towards the fridge, he made sure to carefully remove the glass dome that kept the cake safe, before sliding a cold piece into an ornate plate they usually kept for special costumers. He was sure his boss wouldn't mind.

The amount of junk mail he had was bordering the edge of bloody ridiculous. Arthur cleaned out his inbox on a daily basis and still he somehow managed to end up with it full to the max every evening. Most of them were just alerts from his profile, Francis stalking him through the social network and random game requests. He would eventually have to ask Antonio how to block those things the next time he met up with him. In truth, Arthur loathed all that social network rubbish. The internet was meant for him to do his work and (the occasional porn) nothing more.

But then, it was difficult not to log in everyday to look over that one person's profile.

Thin fingers absently touched the computer screen, green eyes dimming. First with a sorrowful sort of melancholy, and then followed by searing hate. He silently seethed as he watched that woman, the woman with the long dark hair and equally dark eyes, sitting so… so debauchedly on some random man's lap. Blouse open, obvious marks across her chest… He would always wonder who the cur that took her away from him was. With a new one every month, it was hard to keep track. Why should he even keep track? He was acting like some sort of deranged stalker. But he honestly didn't care. There had been no closure to the day she walked out on him, leaving him alone in his cozy little London flat that suddenly felt so hollow and cold. Heartbroken, the wedding bands abandoned on the palm of his hand. _'It isn't you… it's me,'_ had been her last words as she walked out; as if ending a two week relationship instead of a two year marriage. She, Elizabeth, had called him _too good a man_ for her. Arthur understood what she meant, he wasn't stupid or blind.

It was never just him since the beginning.

It was him because he had offered her a home, a car, gifts every weekend. He brought her flowers and wrote her poems like the terrible romantic he was. Showered her with love and affection and smiles and laughs. But it was never truly just him. It happened the same week Arthur asked to speak with her in all seriousness. When he sat her down on his pristine couch with some white wine, kissed her cheek and whispered his innermost desire to finally… start a warm and loving family. Three days later, she was out the door and out of his life.

Arthur had been young. It had first seemed like a ray of hope in his troubled life, freshly emerged from his punk phase, just starting college. Four years later, it all came crashing down. His grades, his part time job, his _sanity_. His brothers had tried to reach out a helping hand, but before he knew it, he found himself wrapped in a web again. Francis Bonnefoy, his first boyfriend, had walked in through the door of his flat.

There were no civilized discussions. Just yells and vengeful rants. Francis pointed out that he deserved getting left behind, like he had done to him. Had said that Arthur walked out on him because he had fallen in love, while Arthur points out that Francis left him alone for his big break in the United States. Not that it all mattered anymore. Everything had changed…

"You okay, man?"

Closing the tab, he turned his green eyes up to the young man who patiently stood there, drink and pastry in hand, looking somewhat concerned. Arthur gave him a soft smile and a stiff nod. Alfred placed his things on the table. "Thank you, Alfred." He then stared when the blonde slipped into the booth right in front of him. "Umm…"

"How are you?" Alfred tried to be smooth but his shaking hands were ruining the act. He discreetly placed them on his lap. The smile was blinding, genuinely happy to see the stodgy Brit again after so long. He clung to the fabric of his jeans.

Arthur blinked momentarily before turning his attention to his drink, sniffing at it and deeming it good enough to drink. He took a small sip, relishing the warm and bitter taste, his back instantly relaxing as he sighed soundlessly. Even his eyebrows eased into a pleasing expression. Alfred found it utterly intoxicating to take in. "It's been a stressful week, but I'm quite all right." Another sip; this time the reaction was a bit more discreet. "And yourself?"

"Great! I'm great." Deep green eyes stared at him steadily; he chuckled nervously. "Classes are going well and stuff."

"You're a student?" Come to think of it, Arthur knew absolutely nothing of the boy. Just that he had a rather worrying hero complex and his personality was best suited for a children's program. Endearing yes, but unsettling.

"Uh, yeah. The Art Institute of New York. Aspiring model, I am. The modeling isn't the problem though; it's the other classes that suck. Big time. Just landed a part time job too. Right here, obviously." He was rambling, it was embarrassing, but Arthur kept nodding. All of his attention on him. It made him excited and slowly but surely, the anxiety began to melt away.

"A model, eh? Sounds like a fanciful career. I suppose it is rather fitting; you'd make a dashing addition to the fashion world." His tone was casual, thank God. Arthur reached for his piece of cake and scraped off the chocolate icing with his spoon, leisurely tasting it on his tongue as he pulled the spoon away, nearly moaning at how mind-blowingly delicious it tasted. Alfred shifted uncomfortably. He could feel his hormones beginning to kick in. "So are you a native New Yorker or…?"

"Yeah. Born and raised. Wouldn't trade it for the world."

"Lovely."

"I'd ask if you're from England, but that'd kind of make me sound stupid and stuff." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

It was as if they had silently agreed on getting to know each other, right there on the spot. Neither of them seemed bothered by it, so they went along with what felt like the most natural thing in the world. Conversing like old mates. Afraid of ruining a perfectly pleasant moment.

"Nonsense, I get asked that all the time. I'm actually from Liverpool; moved to London when I was lad then came here after… some unfortunate events." He grumbled that last bit quickly but masked it by slipping a spoonful of cake into his mouth.

"That sounds so cool—well, not the unfortunate events thing. Do girls swoon over you when they hear your accent? Cause, I mean, I wouldn't blame them." Alfred made a waving gesture before stopping himself, analyzing what he had just said. "I-It's common knowledge that most Americans jizz when they hear a Brit. I don't get what the big deal is. You sound normal to me." He was quick to fix what he had said, but it was too late.

Arthur nearly thought the sexual tension to be palpable between them. It was so damn obvious that the American wanted a taste; Arthur did too. And vice versa. Normally, the Englishman wouldn't waste a minute in taking him to bed; it wasn't like he had never done so before. His reputation still held strong even if his playboy antics dimmed to nearly nonexistent the moment he officially started seeing Francis. But this was different. Arthur wanted to _touch_ him. He wanted to inhale the smell of his hair and taste those innocent lips. Run his hands along those slender sides and feed off that raw energy that came with those teenage hormones. Arthur wanted to see if that constant ray of happiness was contagious… because he wanted some of it. Craved it.

It was time to let go of the past.

"You'd be surprised. Not all Americans have a thing, as you'd say, for my accent. Some just find me downright annoying."

Alfred gave a short laugh, leaning back as he sunk a bit into the booth, allowing himself to get comfortable. He enjoyed watching the way Arthur pressed the cup to his lips and tipped his head back; enjoyed watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed his drink. The slick way he licked his lips briefly afterwards. "What a load of bull. You're a pretty okay guy. Don't see why someone would find you annoying. Rude, maybe, but not annoying."

"Oh shut it, you sod."

Laughing nervously, Alfred willed his suddenly stiff body to loosen up a bit. The words had gone right through him. "Would you like a refill? Some more cake?" He blurted out the questions, grinning like mad and perhaps blushing like mad as well. The look in those green eyes across from him seemed unreadable for a moment. And then they dimmed. Dimmed into a look that made every single ounce of blood in the teen's body head south without much preamble.

"I can guarantee you that there is something I'd like." Alfred wasn't crazy, but he swore Arthur purred the words in a near whisper. It had probably been his imagination, but the leg that was now sliding between his and rubbing against his thigh was pretty real. Without thinking, he darted his hand across the table, laying it over the Briton's who stared wide-eyed at him. Of all reactions, he truly hadn't been expecting that.

"Uh, I… I." He was dumbfounded at his own actions.

"What's the matter, Alfred?" Leaning slightly across the table, Arthur leered. "Is it the accent?"

"…Fuck."

Arthur flashed a dirty little smirk and leaned away, deeply satisfied at how he had left the lad. Turning his sights back to his computer he made sure it didn't fall on the screensaver. He turned his hand around, palm up, without pulling it away from under Alfred's. "Be a dear and fetch me another drink." It was then that he slowly slid his hand from under it, making sure he ghosted his fingertips across the other's palm.

Alfred banged his knee as he stood up from the booth, cursing beneath his breath as he limped his way back to the serving area where Marco glared daggers at him. "I told you to—"

"Just give me five more minutes, please!" Frantically, he pulled another drink from the machines in record speed. His pants were extremely uncomfortable but he didn't give a fuck. If his hormones had been the ones driving him these past few months, then he had no idea what he was going to do. Arthur was teasing him, blatantly so, and Alfred was sure he was not being taken seriously. It sucked, big time. But his body was thrumming with something he couldn't even place. He'd play along to the very end, no matter where it took him.

No matter how hard the fall.

He darted back to the table and placed the drink as casually as possible in front of the Englishman. "Here you go, Arthur. Enjoy."

"Already am." Picking up the cup, he toasted the air as if it were a beer instead of tea and took a sip. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do. And I'm quite sure you do too." The older male gave him a small, distant smile and a short nod.

With a large smile of his own, Alfred nodded back. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry for kind of being all up on your face and stuff. Just holler and I'll come right back."

"Of course."

"Right. Yeah." With an awkward wave, Alfred made his way back to Marco who chose to ignore him this time. "Sorry, bro."

"You and I need to have a talk."

The blonde winced as he reached for a clean rag and the water pump. He had that one coming. "Sure thing. I'll just… clean up and stuff."

"Yes, you do that."

Never had Alfred suffered such a stressful night. The warning in Marcos tone, Arthur sitting by the window casting him occasional glances while he typed away at his computer, the raging hard on in his pants… He wanted the night to end already. A cold shower would have done wonders at the moment, not to mention a nice meal. Or maybe he could talk more with him… Either option sounded about right.

As the night went on and the costumers began to take their leave, only a handful staying behind, Marco called up Alfred who was furiously cleaning the remaining tables that had just been unoccupied. "Pretty intense conversation you two had there. You know him?"

Alfred fidgeted as he stored away his cleaning supplies, biting his lower lips anxiously. "Kind of, yeah."

"Or is he the one you've been looking for all this time?"

"….Yeah. That's… pretty much him."

Marco looked over to the businessman, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "He's rather old for you."

"Hey! It's not like—it's not like that!" Alfred sidestepped one of his fellow workers, scratching his cheek and wondering if he was as red as he felt. Marco was too perceptive for his own good and it was beginning to get him paranoid. Like he wasn't already. "We've only met just a couple of times and stuff. He's taken. Not that I'm interested! Or… anything."

The beads on Marco's hair clinked together as he shook his head with a laugh, waving the American off. "I'm not even going to comment on that, man. You're too much."

"I didn't ask for your opinion anyway." Pout in place, Alfred crossed his arms, pointedly looking in the opposite direction from where Arthur was currently working. "I just helped him out with something a few weeks ago."

Gripping Alfred's shoulder, a dark eye winked at him. "Go ask if he needs a refill. It's almost closing time. Make it count."

"Huh? Make what count?" Tossing a few packets of sugar into a glass container, Marco jerked his head with a laugh. "What's that supposed to mean, dude?" Standing there, he huffed in exasperation. Why was everyone more perceptive than him? Why was he surrounded by so many perceptive people in the first place? First Kiku, now Marco. "Bunch a' jerks."

He didn't bother asking if the Brit needed a refill. Alfred prepared the drink and served another piece of the chocolate cake, flipping the sign to _'closed'_ as he somehow managed to balance both items in one hand. Reaching the table without spilling a drop, he quietly placed them down, his stomach twisting in not so painful knots.

Green eyes fluttered up, somewhat surprised. He didn't speak as he took the new drink and chugged it down, despite how hot it was. Alfred chuckled as he took a seat again; it looked like Arthur had been thinking rather deeply about something.

They stood in silence.

Closing his laptop, the blonde stored it safely away once he noticed the time. Tomorrow would be another long day, and he had wasted the night by just sitting there, idly. Quietly looking at the young man who so politely served him his drinks. He turned his eyes towards the window, watching as raindrops chased each other down the foggy glass. Watched as the water distorted and amplified the vivid colors of the city street. It was awfully comforting, yet unsettling. It reminded him of London.

A whistle made Alfred look up, seeing Marco gesture something unintelligibly. It was then that he had noticed; the coffee shop was empty for the exception of him and Arthur. He nodded and stood up. "Closing time."

"Ah, yes of course. I think I dawdled more that I should have." Arthur quickly gathered his things before reaching for his wallet and pulling out a card. "Company card. Let her rip." He said rather disdainfully as he shoved it onto Alfred's chest rather rudely. The American held up his hands.

"Naw, it's all on me."

"Excuse me?"

The boy shrugged, smiling down at the man as he walked towards the main doors, the lights at the farthest end of the café shutting off. "You looked like you had a shitty day. To make it better, you're on the house."

Arthur stared at him steadily before looking down at the card. What a small and insignificant gesture… yet it had made a world of difference to him. "T-Thank you. I feel like I'm indebted to you more and more each week." He let out a small laugh, slipping his card back into place.

"Don't worry about it; I'm a hero. S'what I do." He beamed.

"You truly are something else." Arthur's smile had been genuine as he extended his hand; Alfred shook it. "I apologize for being somewhat lewd; it was not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable in any way. Forgive me if I did."

"No way, man! A lot more people need that kind of self-esteem. Not to mention the balls to hit on someone like me." Puffing his chest out, he grinned. He was beginning to feel surer of himself, as if he was getting used to the Briton's presence. This whole situation had been something else. It was all too good to be true, like one of those Hollywood romances. The thought only made his grin grow wider, if possible.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur reached for the door. "Such language." He pulled the door open and stepped out into the cold, looking back at those beautiful blues one more time with a barely visible smile. "Good night, Alfred. Thank you for the pleasant company."

"How long till I see you again?"

The question took him off guard. The boy, the young man, was so obviously smitten that it was difficult to watch. Arthur felt the need to remind him that he was already seeing someone…but he wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he broke that ridiculously bubbly heart. He shouldn't lead him on… but the attention was intoxicating. Thrilling. He was a terrible person.

"I'll see you when I see you." It pulled at his heartstrings, seeing Alfred's face fall. Arthur had brought his defenses up again, leaving the dilly-dallying behind. He had acted on impulse all evening long and as a result he had acted like some immature child. He was an English gentleman, not some debauched ruffian. "Hopefully it'll be sooner than later." There, he had said it. There was no denying he meant those words; none whatsoever.

"Awesome then. Good night, Arthur." Alfred felt the urge to hug the shorter man but restrained himself. He didn't want to put any unnecessary strain at that unexpected meeting. "Have a nice day tomorrow."

Gripping his suitcase tightly, he gave a short nod and went on his way.

Alfred watched Arthur run to his car, the suitcase over his head to prevent getting too wet from the pouring rain, his beige coat flapping behind him as he went. He couldn't help but smile as he watched the car pull out and drive away, and even minutes later, he still looked in the direction he had driven off to. It had been a good night after all. A damn good one.

Locking the door, he threw the keys at a grinning Marco who was oh so casually leaning against the counter. "Not a word."

"Wasn't planning on it."

"Night, man."

"Good night, lover boy."

* * *

The evening after, while absently jotting down an order, Alfred turned his sights towards the glass doors as they swung open for the umpteenth time that day. His permanent smile widened, his chest going aflutter.

A head of blonde, tussled hair stuck out in the small crowed. Familiar green eyes looking about as he approached the line to order. He hadn't seen Alfred yet.

The American already knew that the day would have an awesome end.

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_To be Continued._

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AN: Speedy update was speedy this time, I'm stunned. :D Hope you enjoyed the little nudge there; hopefully there'll be more USUK interaction now that the ice broke. As always, reviews are love and ridiculously motivating! ~


	8. Chapter 8

_Falling in Love in New York City_

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CHAPTER8

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"_Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun. _That wasn't that hard. Though I'm gonna have to skip on the pickles and onions… and the special sauce. I could always put some mayo. And ketchup. Hm. Pops did say I was always good with improvising…" Rummaging through the kitchen cabinet, Alfred reached for an unused ketchup bottle. This had been his third failed attempt at a Big Mac, since he usually only remembered to make it when he lacked half the ingredients. Plucking the patties out of the pan, he placed them neatly over a leaf of lettuce. Squirting a liberal amount of ketchup on them, he placed the remaining bun on top and dug in, his mouth watering as he did so. "Damn that's good." Turning on his bare heels, he made for the couch, a mega jug of soda in tow.

He wiggled his hips when his sweatpants began to slide down on one side.

It was five in the evening; Saturday. His day off and no homework to be done. Just him, the television and a fridge full of junk food. Normally, around that time, he'd be getting ready to go hang out with his mates but he had already taken a detour the night before. One that had taken a serious toll on his already depleted energy.

Gilbert had stopped by an hour before his shift ended and nearly begged him to go to the movies with the rest of the small group. He had been less than enthusiastic about it. After the initial two weeks of Arthur religiously stopping by the café for a drink, be it for the entire night or just a few minutes, that had been the first night he didn't show. Alfred was feeling surprisingly moody, but he agreed to it anyways. It would help get his mind off things.

He made it back to his apartment by four in the morning.

The movie had been total trash. Something about some slave girls running around in skimpy outfits, he tried to remember exactly how the plot went but he was too sleepy to even bother paying attention to it. No matter the intake of soda, popcorn and nachos, he crashed the moment he fell on his bed, still clad in his working clothes. He slept the whole day through and awoke to a bitter taste and something sticky on the roof of his mouth; first thought, was wishing he had at least washed his mouth before bed. He even tasted a trace of stale chocolate fudge on there.

After slipping into more comfortable clothing, not bothering to shower just yet, and brushing his teeth, he made himself some breakfast. A whopping double cheese burger the size of Mount Rushmore. Shutting off his game console he slipped on a movie, leaned back and enjoyed his evening.

And thought.

For the first time in forever he had time to analyze his situation. How things had somewhat changed; for better or worse, it was still being debated. Alfred had been surprised to see Arthur at the movies the night before with a small handful of people, quietly chattering with a green eyed brunette. He looked rather relaxed in loose fit dressing pants and a blazer over a button down; way more casual than his usual suits, but nowhere near as 'casual' as those leather pants he had worn the first time they met. But he always managed to look good.

Afterwards, Alfred didn't feel as let down as he thought he would. In the end, it looked like Arthur was at least enjoying himself even if that permanent frown was still there; his eyes looked a bit lighter without the haunting presence of those bags alerting him of countless sleepless nights. Alfred never approached him. Not because Gilbert was there, hawking his every move, or any of his friends for that matter. Just because he wanted to watch the Englishman in a more natural environment. Wanted to make sure that he wasn't just some pimp pulling up some sweet talk on Alfred or any other good looking boy in the city. Arthur seemed pretty legit, even if the American was yet to see his so called boyfriend. Maybe the brunette was the lucky guy, but it seemed highly unlikely. It didn't seem like Arthur loathed him in particular.

A lot of ground had been covered in those first two weeks. Nothing too personal was discussed, but they at least got a bit of a peak at each other's lives. To make a long story short, they seemed more like teenagers than anything. The surprisingly uptight Brit was into rock music, mostly punk and that weird folk rock that usually hosted classical music. Go figure. He was _rather fond of dancing_ but downright denied that he _enjoyed_ it. Something of a stress reliever, he had pointed out; Arthur had even taken professional lessons back in the day. It took all of Alfred's might not to fantasize for the next couple of days, imagining just how good a dancer the man was. The younger blonde pointed out his love for science fiction and they both ended up finding some mutual ground when it came to Doctor Who. He hadn't been too fond of Star Wars, however.

Another evening they discussed cars. And another went along the lines of British stereotypes that got the Briton rather heated up; nearly yelling at how stupid some Americans were regarding the topic. Even Alfred's future had been splayed on the coffee table, making Arthur scoff and roll his eyes at how _'childish and naive'_ the other was being. Even if deep down he found it utterly adorable; not that he'd ever admit that.

They had gone from flustered strangers to bantering acquaintances. They were both surprisingly okay with that. Or at least Alfred was. The American wondered if the Englishman thought so too, but if he visiting the café every night had meant anything, he was pretty sure he did. It brought a smile to his face.

He took a bite out of the burger, wiping the mayo and ketchup from the corner of his mouth and sucking his finger clean. Credits rolled across the screen, some corny music playing in the background as a booming voice narrated something about the Wild West. The evening sun filtered through the window, a stubborn wedge hitting him right in the left eye, his glasses only making the glare worse. Shifting a bit, he ended up lying on his side to escape the rude sun that he was sure was purely intent on ruining his evening by making him blind. It was harder to eat without choking that way, but it'll have to do.

He felt too lazy to actually get up and shut the blinds.

In the end he learned that he actually enjoyed Arthur's company. For a while the tension on his shoulders was nearly strangling; waiting for some sort of repeat of the first night. He waited for the teasing to return in some sort of level, but it never did. The Briton had been a complete gentleman, as he enjoyed proclaiming with poor subtlety. Alfred still had trouble deciding if that was a good thing or a bad thing. On some level he _wanted_ Arthur to tease him, not that he'd ever admit that.

_Was that good… or bad?_

Sexuality came into question again; the one factor he had been trying to avoid for the past weeks. He frowned at the thought that he was pretty much gay for the guy. Or it could be one of those guy crush scenarios, though it really made no sense. The charged amount of sexual tension was too much to ignore, even if they weren't visibly bothered by it. Maybe it was just an overactive libido? Gilbert always told him that it was considered normal to just lust after something until one got it out of their system. At least, it was normal for most guys his age. He doubted any of those guys felt the same level of_… something…_ Alfred did. He had no name for it. Not yet. He wouldn't allow himself to pinpoint it.

Reaching for his cup of soda, he leaned up slightly to take a good chug. The movie continued on in the background while he paid no attention to it whatsoever. Leftover drowsiness from his restless sleep was slowly creeping up on him.

Arthur was handsome. Alfred faced it. It was safe to say those things in his head, as long as no one heard or knew about it. He wanted to get to know him better; learn how he ticked and the reason for the constant sadness behind those gorgeous eyes. There was so much more behind a neatly pressed suit, an eternal bed-head and a despised boyfriend. He knew his taste in music and movies and books… but it just wasn't anywhere near enough. He wanted to hang out with Arthur outside the walls of his workplace; like taking him on a date.

Blue eyes blinked up at the ceiling, fighting off the sudden fit of sleep that so stealthily crept up on him. A date sounded good. Although he wouldn't be stupid enough to call it such a thing. Arthur would immediately start blabbering about his partner, or just dating the American in general, and Alfred would only get annoyed. For being one used to getting what he wanted on the simplest whim, it irritated him that he couldn't have Arthur.

'_You're awful pretty when you get mad.'_

Alfred jumped, startled from his sleep when the television sounded louder than it should have. He was pinching the remote. With a groan, he switched it to mute and rolled onto his side, dropping that last piece of burger he hadn't been able to finish onto the floor. He'd pick it up later once his energy was at full power.

That moment between being asleep and awake was perhaps the worst time to actually try to think rationally, Alfred had found out with much disdain. It was harder to keep track of one's thoughts; to control them. They just ran amuck and played nasty little tricks on one's mind; creating images too intricate to distinguish between fantasy and reality. Unyielding, unabashed and so very alluring.

It didn't take long for Alfred's body to slacken again on the couch, evening giving out into night as thunder rumbled slightly in the distance. The soft hum of the heater proved comforting to him as he let out a soft snore, a short sigh dying on his lips shortly after.

It was times like those when he truly hated being a hormonal teenager…

* * *

The coffee house was dipped in darkness.

Closed for the night; the obvious smell of freshly brewed coffee signaled it hadn't been that long since the glass doors had been locked. The scent of mist, like a fresh rain shower, mingled with the previous smell, giving Alfred a brief almost dreamlike sense of déjà vu. A distant feeling of disorientation and elatedness made him feel lightheaded. It was late night even if the streets stated otherwise through the large glass windows. New York City never slept; the sea of lights and sounds was the only proof in his haze. There was no sense for him to be there. Not in a loose pair of jeans, shirtless and barefoot, anyways.

He figured it'd be best to serve himself some coffee. It seemed like the most logical thing at the moment, if not the only possible choice. He'd slip the money beneath the cash register for when Marco began his shift the coming morning. After pulling a foam cup from the stack, blue eyes blinked for half a moment in confusion, taking in the fact that it was already full with his favorite drink. Alfred chugged it down like it had been the most normal thing in the world despite how hot it was. His subconscious told him somewhat that it was all a dream and he promptly accepted that fact but did little to nothing in order to take control of the scenario. In fact, the moment he thought it, it vanished from his mind unbidden. He rolled with it. One step at a time, for it was all perfectly normal.

Something caught his attention, which he directed without preamble to the center of the now desolate café. Just one table rested against the farthest wall, a red booth by its side, facing him. Nothing more and nothing less. A shadow lurked in his line of vision and setting his cup down, he walked towards it. It moved, slowly, side to side, up and down… He couldn't pinpoint what it was or the kind of moment it was doing per se, but when a beam of light filtered in through the window, he could see perfectly well what it was.

The figure turned, just as slowly as the movement of the hips, to look at the young man.

For a brief moment, Alfred had trouble breathing.

Cold hands were pressed to the American's chest, steadily sliding down and around his hips, before sliding back up across his back, nails scraping lightly along the way. A clothed chest chaffed against his bare one as the figure leaned in, whispering something intelligible into his ear before nipping at it. Alfred's head reeled as he looked down into very vivid, very green eyes. "A-Arthur?"

"Hush, love. Dance with me." The voice curled as he spoke, making glorious knots in Alfred's stomach as he allowed the other to lead him towards the center of the place, safely into the cover of darkness.

Arthur turned to him, encasing the angular face as he leaned in to steal a slow kiss, allowing his lips to linger longer than what was truly necessary. Moving his hips, he made sure to ground them against Alfred's with a breathless laugh, drawing out that sexual tension that hung between them ever so constantly. Alfred's mouth dried out, his hands searching for purchase anywhere on the smaller body pressed so sultrily against his. It felt amazing. "That was… that felt nice."

"Did it? You wouldn't mind if I…" The older blonde trailed off, now holding a constant rhythm, circling his hips and making sure they rubbed against Alfred's already forming erection. Arthur licked his lips, eyes trained on that young face as he sunk his fingers into the American's back, drinking in the strong muscles slowly flexing while they resisted the urge to buckle under the pleasant pressure.

"Do it." No hesitation; only determination.

Blue eyes widened as they watched Arthur walk in the general direction of the only booth available, realization finally dawning as he stared at the milky _bare_ _legs_. There were no pants to accompany the suit, no jacket either now that he paid closer attention; just the simple button down, long enough to just hide the slight wake of his ass. The swing of his hips as he walked made the shirt ride up just a bit, and Arthur would pull it right back down, teasingly. There was no use in denying the fact that Alfred was rock hard within his jeans.

"Come now; on the table." He bolted across the room, earning a chuckle from the suddenly not so stodgy Brit. "Tell me, Alfred. What do you want?"

"I… uh. Well…" It was suddenly hard to even begin to wander the answer to that question. He didn't know _how_ to answer it. What he did know, was the fact that he wanted to get off; wanted Arthur to get him off on the spot without delay. He wasn't given the chance to pull his words together when already his soon to be lover was pushing him onto the table, the cold texture pressing onto his warm back, making him hiss. "Fuck."

Moist lips assaulted his abdomen, a hot tongue trailing fresh traces of saliva around his navel before biting down on the fleshy stomach. Hard enough to redden the spot, but not enough to bruise. Kisses were scattered across the exposed planes, but all it took was a fleeting lick to Alfred's left nipple and he had become a whimpering mess of pent up hormones. Arthur's body was a mass of raw heat lingering above him, taking control, looking down with eyes intent on devouring him whole. Alfred had no regrets.

A mixture of a gasp and moan escaped his lips unbidden when Arthur took a serious hold of his knees and pulled him closer to the edge of the table, slipping between those powerful thighs and grinding up. Alfred met him with a thrust of his own. Perspiration was beginning to make him slip across the surface of the same table he polished every day, but he didn't care. Arthur was chaffing against him so deliciously that is was difficult to focus on anything else, or how wrong it all was.

Another moan filtered through when he leaned up to look at where they were both meeting. Arthur had so casually taken the hem of his button down and pinched it between his teeth, leaving their regions exposed for Alfred to clearly see. Bare muscle flexed with each thrust, a thick cock chaffing against the front of his jeans vigorously. If it was painful, it sure didn't look like it. A hand went back to holding Alfred's knee, making sure he stayed in place, while the other tickled its way down his stomach, latching onto the hem of his jeans and teasingly fumbling with the button there.

Arthur snapped it open.

Alfred's whimper echoed throughout the empty business when a cold hand slipped inside and tugged at his erection. "_Fuck_… _Arthur_…" He could feel himself melt into the hand that steadily pumped him, his head lolling on the table as he whispered Arthur's name like a sacred mantra. It was amazing. Had he known it felt that good, well… he wouldn't have waited so long to try it.

Looming overhead, the Englishman leaned in, whispering profanities against Alfred's lips and stealing the occasional kiss that was surrendered so fervently. Removing his hand, he resorted to teasing the leaking tip gently, the tip of his index finger rubbing light circles over the slit. His knees were quivering; he knew he wouldn't be able to last long, not if Arthur continued to dish out each torture so perfectly.

"… Lovely, Alfred. So very _lovely_." This time, Arthur kissed him squarely on the lips. It was a mess of lips and tongue, teeth clashing against teeth, desperate moans and groans as they clung to each other. Hips rubbing frantically as they briefly surfaced for air before continuing their wild thrashing and wanton pleas for more.

It was too much. Too much and Alfred was already teetering over the edge…

* * *

A loud crash ripped Alfred away from the _way too vivid_ dream with a startled gasp. Clinging to the sides of his couch, he chanced a look around, glasses askew as he stared at the movie menu playing on his screen. Lightning boomed overhead, filling the dark apartment with bright white and the occasional burst of sound that had woke him up. Sweat slicked his forehead and his lips were dry.

"_'The_ _fuck_ was that about?" Pressing his palm to his face he couldn't help but groan in frustration. He didn't want to look down. He downright refused to do so out of fear of what he would see. That had been the most fabulous, not to mention disturbing, dream he had ever hosted to date. It most definitely hadn't been the first time he had had a wet dream, but a guy? Arthur of all people? It made him feel like a downright creep. Sexual frustration at its finest.

Neon numbers alerted him that he had slept for a good handful of hours; it was almost nine thirty and he had done absolutely nothing productive in the whole day. _Just as planned._ Stumbling off the couch he cringed when his foot landed on something squishy, the distasteful sensation of mush slipping in between his toes. At least now he remembered where he had put that last piece of his breakfast before he had dozed off.

"Why didn't you stay sleeping, Alfred? Would've been better off, bro. Now you have a raging hard-on, some nasty shit in your mouth and mashed hamburger on your foot. Fuck my life."

He made a show out of limping towards the bathroom, making sure he only used the heel of his right foot as he made his way. Chancing a look down at himself, he frowned. The obvious tent in his sweats was too obvious to ignore and too stubborn to go down even with his current annoyance.

His biggest mistake was to palm at the erection in an attempt to force it back down.

A barely audible gasp escaped him as he stood right in front of his bathroom door, looking down at himself uncomfortably, his already read cheeks turning a few shades darker. It was starting to get painful but he didn't really know what he wanted to do with it. He'd tried calming down with a cold shower countless times before and yet it never worked for him. The thought of getting himself off scared him more than it should have; there would be no going back once it had been done. "As long as nobody knows about it… right? He doesn't have to know." Alfred's voice cracked a bit as he swallowed around the knot that had formed in his throat, trying to convince himself.

He cupped himself. A thumb running lightly over the length of the clothed member as he just stood there, still dumbfounded with the whole thing as it began to settle in. It was a tough pill to swallow but his decision was made. He mentally berated himself for making such decisions based on his level of arousal. But the dirty thoughts his mind played around with were unforgiving. Long fingers wrapped around himself, giving a slow pump and releasing a shuddering breath. So he'd quickly get himself off and be over with it, there was no sense in lingering on the thought and making said thought more uncomfortable than it already was.

Alfred shoved the bathroom door open and hit the light switch before locking it behind him. Kicking off his pants, he tried to remove his shirt at the same time, causing him to knock over a few rolls of toilet tissue and his deodorant. He grimaced again when he regained his balance, the mush settling further into his toes. "Gross." Discarding his boxers, he cranked up the shower head to hot and shoved in his foot, awkwardly trying to wash away his breakfast as best as he could before stepping entirely underneath the spray.

Chills ran down his spine as he hissed, muscles unwinding underneath the hot water sluicing down his body. Blonde hair matted against his forehead, the cow lick surrendering beneath the heavy spray that continued running down in thick ringlets down his glasses. Suddenly remembering the spectacles, he swiftly removed them and placed it over the soap rack, safe out of harm's way. Cupping his hands together, Alfred scooped some water before splashing it against his face, rubbing his eyes to shake off whatever remnants of sleep still lingered. He placed a hand over his shoulder and stretched, but it didn't go away.

No matter how much he tried to ignore it, it was still there. Throbbing for attention as he looked down at it. "You're a jerk, you know that?" Alfred mumbled at his cock, glaring daggers at it. He zoned out again, under the warm water, his mind travelling through a million thoughts per second. It was wrong, rude and vulgar. Not to mention creepy and just… well, _wrong_. Jerking off to someone he didn't know, no matter how sexy said person was…

Alfred licked his lips.

Who knew; perhaps Arthur would get a kick out of it. Maybe he'd be flattered at the thought that he could affect Alfred in such a way. Maybe he'd just tease him about it. Laugh in his face and poke at his chest, saying something witty in that slurred accent of his… and then maybe, just maybe, the same finger that was used to poke at his chest, began to slide down. Nothing too drastic, just a slow and deliberate glide, barely a touch but clearly present. Strictly intent on nefarious deeds. It would stop short of where the trail of blonde hair began, tugging at the curls briefly, before taking a firm grip and a slow pump.

With a gasp, Alfred's eyes flickered open, looking down at where his fingers were loosely wrapped around his member, stroking slowly. He didn't give it much thought as he drove his other hand to join in, cupping the sack just beneath, making goose bumps erupt all across his skin. The warm water created the most perfect sensory illusion for his fantasy; the heat in the bathroom making the mirror fog up, the thick rivulets that sluiced down his body like stray hands touching the most sanctioned of places, the constant wet feeling, and the tough spray that could pass for rough kisses.

He turned his back to the spray, placing a hand over the wet tile to balance himself as he spread out his legs, the drops pelting delicious against his sensitized body and tickling his ass. The other hand didn't seize the slow stroking movement, but suddenly, it wasn't his hand that was getting him off, but a smaller, much gentler palm.

A moan ripped through him before he could stop it, the warmth that was pressing against his back making him buck his hips, thighs quivering with pleasure. _"You naughty little thing."_ Fire churned in the pit of Alfred's stomach. _"Giving yourself a good wank with me in mind… Supposed you wouldn't mind me giving you a hand?"_

"F-Fuck…" A slick tongue made its way along the back of his neck, stopping to nip at the exposed ear. The hand that wasn't stroking Alfred came up to tangle in the wet hair, tugging on it rather roughly to better get his attention. Dirty words were whispered into his ear, that foreign accent making his cock twitch in anticipation, desperate for that release that was already bordering his conscious.

"_Do you still think yourself to be straight, darling? Look at you, whimpering beneath my touch. Wanting me to just eat you up. I know you want my mouth around that lovely, thick cock of yours."_ Hot breath tickled his ear, the hand around his arousal squeezing just right to make him cry out for more. _"Better yet… to just shove that beast in me. To fuck me into your mattress until we both give out exhausted. Doesn't that sound magnificent, Alfred? Doesn't it? Pummeling into my depths, ravishingly hot and wet and tight… until I scream your name at the top of my bloody lungs?"_

"_Arthur_! God, yes… Oh, fuck… _fuck_! That feels so fucking good…" Alfred's hand pumped faster, tipping his head back as his fantasy engulfed him; his stomach churning in pure ecstasy as not only his mind but body was convinced that it was all real. So real and so good that he could feel the blood boil in his veins. Nails attempted to claw at the tile but only slipped, making Alfred momentarily loose his balance. He turned to rest his back against the wall, still vigorously pumping himself as if his life depended on it, before sliding down to sit in the porcelain tub. With his heel, he kicked down the plug and let the water level rise.

"_How romantic. All one needs is a few lit candles and it would almost pass as a date." _The voice was back, his mind conjuring the very best imitation of it.

"You do look like a total helpless romantic." The hand slowed, and instead decided to run up the chiseled stomach, fingertips ghosting along the drops of water resting in the sinfully delicious looking ridges. It flicked a nipple, giving it a playful tug as Alfred squirmed beneath the rising water. "Damn you're good, Arthur."

Licking his lips, he kicked off the water once it reached high enough to cover him entirely. Cobalt eyes looked down as he grasped the base of his cock, straightening it out to see that it did, in fact, stick out of the current water level. He didn't suppress the giggle that slipped out as he admired his manhood and felt ridiculously proud. _"Quite a gift you got there, Alfred. Seems rather hard to take it all in… but I might be able to accommodate you."_ He could see Arthur making his way up his body, taking hold of the towering erection and resuming his previous action of jerking him off without faltering.

Smoldering green eyes devoured his silhouette, the sheer lust behind those thick lashes made him squirm in the cooling water as he was mercilessly pumped. He felt delirious, unable to handle the overwhelming feeling of burning heat that licked at every one of his senses. Alfred whimpered as he began to thrash, water splashing onto the floor and soaking the pants he had just discarded. The slick sound of a wet hand rapidly stroking a wet cock made the experience all the more erotic, making his mouth dry out as he called out Arthur's name like a prayer.

At that moment he didn't care. He didn't care what Arthur was; if he had a boyfriend or not. He didn't care if he was a stranger or if he would be disgusted by his actions. All that mattered was that Alfred was giving himself the best jerk off ever, to the hottest being on the planet.

Panting, he couldn't help but imagine Arthur sitting up, straddling his hips as he began to pointedly rub their cocks together. He could see the Englishman playfully reaching for the purple sponge lying innocently on the corner of the tub, soaking it, and then squeezing it above his head; the water trickling down his angular face. Moist lips shinned with stray drops, parted and begging to be abused by the American's overenthusiastic mouth.

In all honesty, Alfred's orgasm had taken him completely by surprise. Apparently the conjured image had been more powerful than he had thought; he figured a wet Arthur now belonged on his top kinks list. Had he been alone in his apartment or not, he couldn't resist the scream that he choked out, body shuddering violently as pleasurable tremors wracked every single fiber in his being. His legs flailed as he tried to find purchase to control his trembling limbs but he only ended up slipping farther into the tub. He eventually gave in even though he grimaced at how murky the water was beginning to turn due to his cum.

Tilting his head back, he muttered a curse. He wouldn't think of the consequences or of how immoral that had been at the moment. Alfred would have much rather waited come morning to then bash his head against the wall in instant regret. At that moment, all he wanted to do was relish the glorious feeling of the afterglow and giggle at how ridiculously hot that fantasy had been. For one who hadn't the slightest idea about gay sex, he thought he hadn't been that bad.

After weeks of constant tension, his muscles finally relaxed in sated bliss, a shudder running across his body as he sagged deeper into the water; low enough for it to skim his bottom lip. Alfred didn't want to move. He simply wanted to lay there and pretend that he was holding Arthur to him, mumbling sweet sexy words onto his hair as the older blonde traced absent circles across his chest, light enough to tickle. An absent smile played across his thick lips as he swayed his feet to get the water to slush around in the tub, hands going down to toy and splash against the makeshift waves. Alfred felt good. He liked the feeling. And he couldn't help but wonder just how much better it would be if it were the real thing.

"So much for swearing that I would never bat for the other team." Sluggishly, he got to his feet and pulled out the plug, flinching when the momentarily cold water hit him again. He didn't linger this time as he washed away whatever remnants of his activities still clung to his body. It had felt good, but just because it did, that didn't mean he was still okay with the whole situation. The same old thoughts came back with a vengeance. Not only did he get off to a man… but a much older man. His father would have probably been disgusted, was he ever to find out. His friends would never let him live it down. He was beginning to sound like an old broken record, but it was still a very real and a very difficult situation to deal with.

Grabbing a towel, Alfred made a measly job at tying it around his waist, leaving a good trail of water as he exited his bathroom, passed the kitchen and into his living room. He made sure to agilely avoid stepping on stray food again, making a mental note to at least clean up the floor afterwards. The thunder had thankfully quieted down and only the rushing sound of rain was left, pelting against the windows as the night went on. Taking the phone he made his way back into the kitchen, dialed in some numbers and set off to make himself some coffee.

He figured talking to someone about the situation would probably make it all less hectic. Gilbert and Kiku were definitely out of the question, as were the majority of his mates; so he phoned the only person he knew he could call. The one person who wouldn't be repulsed by his currently confused sexuality, but quite the opposite. "Yo, Lizzie. It's me, Al. I know it's kinda late and that you're probably busy with Roderich, but, call me back as soon as you get this. Much appreciated." Pouring in the milk, he hung up with a drawn-out exhale. Luckily, it didn't take long before his phone started to ring. Quickly pouring in some sugar, he pinched the phone between his ear and shoulder as he stirred it all together.

"This better be good." The woman yawned on the other end, making Alfred grin in amusement.

"Long story, but you won't regret it."

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_To be Continued._

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	9. Chapter 9

_Falling in Love in New York City_

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CHAPTER 9

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"Francis, where on Earth are you? Do you even have the slightest idea what time it is?" Arthur yelled into his phone, pacing around his apartment while making sure that all his necessities were packed. His irritation had peaked in the last couple of days, stress finally beginning to sink it at the approaching 'business trip' his boyfriend had so casually booked without his proper consent. Call him a fool, but in the end he had agreed to it. He wasn't being a masochist about the whole ordeal; he simply needed to regain his footing after the past couple of weeks.

"_Arthur, my love! How nice of you to call. Yes I am perfectly aware at what time it is and no, I will not miss the plane. Running rather late since the CEO requested an emergency meeting; apparently they didn't get the memo and are now desperately searching for someone to stand in during my absence."_ The sea of voices made it nearly impossible for Arthur to understand half of the words, but he nodded absently.

"I am not taking a cab to the airport!"

"_Mon cher, you can take your own car. It'll be more than safe in the building while we are gone; there is no need to worry. Or if it makes you feel better you could always ask Antonio to accompany you, that way he'd be able to drive it back, oui?"_

The slender body dropped onto the neatly made bed, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He resisted the urge to reach for a cigarette. "Antonio's at work. Had you told me before maybe then he'd been able to lend me his time."

A short, calculating silence lingered over the line.

"_Is something wrong, mon amour?"_

"Why are you asking?"

"_You seem distastefully subdued for someone who fought tooth and nail against this entire ordeal and you haven't even done one quip at my endearments. Are you feeling ill?"_

Arthur scoffed, loud and clear enough for Francis to hear over the phone. "Oh shut it. There's no pleasing you is there? I'll get to the bloody airport and if you haven't arrived by then, I'll board without you." And without another word, he slammed the phone shut.

He really did not want to go to on said trip.

France was a stunningly beautiful country, sure, but having Francis in tow was something that killed the entire mood and experience. Thinking about what it meant, leaving to an exotic country with your unwanted boyfriend, made him sick to an entirely new level. Oh, what people would think. The level of self respect he'd be butchering; the amount he had already forfeited the moment he agreed to going on the blasted trip. In truth, Arthur was at a complete mental standstill. He spoke as if he had already decided on going when in truth he was still debating whether or not he should.

He felt lethargic as he made his way into the kitchen to make himself some tea, if only just to get his hands busy while he thought. Those past few weeks had been an unexpected turning point for him though he still wasn't quite sure where he stood. Being driven by a schoolboy crush was hardly the responsible way to go by it, but it was something. A really big something that made him question his motives. Arthur no longer felt horribly alone, despite the lingering reminiscence of it. His desolation was something he hadn't been able to deal with, hence why he had run into Francis' arms out of sheer desperation. And even then, that shadow engulfed him whenever he shut his eyes. But now, things had changed.

Blue eyes haunted his dreams and Arthur was no one to deny that fact. He had become smitten with the lad, with that enticing smile and boyish charm. Noisy outbursts and excited chatter. Maybe he lacked that posh quality that Francis had, but damn, everything else made up for it. Alfred made him feel genuinely wanted, lusted after. And goodness it scared him.

Relationships were never his strongpoint. Not right then when his depression still raged at full force, when those ghosts of a lost love came to torment him or whenever Francis reminded him of how filthy he was. Alfred was probably still a flushing virgin; he didn't deserve Arthur's soiled hands running along that tanned skin, claiming such innocent wonders. In fact, he needn't be thinking about such things regarding Alfred.

France had been an excuse, a hopeful excuse to get away from the constant temptation that was Alfred Jones. Arthur had hoped that being away from the ball of sunshine would set him at ease, would allow him to think clearly like the logical and responsible adult that he was. Acting like a creepy old pervert was taking a bit of a blow to his gentleman stature and he wasn't about to just sit back and watch it all hit the fan because of some teenager. He tried to convince himself that it was nothing but lust and unresolved sexual tension; nothing he couldn't handle after a few drinks and a willing Francis.

Arthur was at a crossroads.

Either he could get on that plane and just allow his life to continue in the unhealthy mess that it currently was… or he could… _he could what_? In all honesty he knew and understood that he had no options; at least, not plausible ones. He fancied the thought of just waltzing into the café and walking right up to the counter, taking Alfred by the waist and tipping him back for a fairytale kiss. The boy would have been thrilled he reckoned. But he was just that, a boy. A young boy… _just like his wife had been a young girl_. Driven by stupid dreams and aspirations that led them to their imminent demise. "Alfred isn't like her…." It might have taken him years to notice that lurking cruelty behind her eyes, but with Alfred, just a matter of weeks told him of his intentions. Hormonal, yes, but crystal clear. "Bloody ol' fool has me grinning like a wolf."

Dipping the teabag into his mug of hot water, he hummed to himself. A small smile played out as he thought over the conversations that had taken place during those last couple of weeks. Arthur was suddenly stricken by the urge to hear Alfred's voice again; to listen to that New York accent that made him squirm in his seat. In fact, he just wanted to talk to him. Alfred would always listen even if he was more of the talking type, and that made his stomach flutter warmly as it did at that very moment. Leaning against the counter, Arthur wrapped his free arm around himself as he took a sip from his mug.

Those weren't feelings of love. It was just an innocent little crush. _Just a crush._

His watch beeped once it struck four in the afternoon, alerting him to hurry up and just finish packing. Setting the mug down, he lingered for a while longer, truly torn between leaving with Francis and staying with Alfred. It came down to what was best for whom. What was best for Arthur against what was best for Alfred. No matter how selfish the Briton was, he couldn't bring himself to just ruin a young man's life. His life had been lived and it wouldn't be fair to just spoil Alfred's for his own sake.

"France it is then." With a defeated sigh, Arthur set to finishing his luggage. He didn't have much of a variety of clothing, but most of his sweater vests had been packed along with his dressing slacks and a handful of coats. Some personal utilities were thrown into his carryon, two packs of cigarettes included. When with Francis, he knew he was going to need them. A couple of boxes more were called for, in fact.

Kicking off his slippers, Arthur went about to change his clothes. He had groomed himself earlier that day, refreshing his haircut and shaving off what little stubble had grown overnight, making him look somewhat younger than usual. For being in his mid thirties, he kept his appearance rather uptight and clean. Wore he any other type of clothing, he'd be able to pass as in his late twenties at the very least. Served as a pretty neat confidence boost really, one that was always welcomed.

With a new pair of black trousers, a burgundy turtleneck and a beige pea coat, he had to admit that he looked rather dashing once he stood before the mirror. The coat framed his body nicely, reaching down to mid thigh; the large black buttons flowing with the design and his new shoes. Arthur ran his hands along some invisible wrinkles before reaching for his matching gloves. He looked too damn good for Francis, he thought with a slight frown, but he soon reminded himself not to dwell on it. No second guessing for that would only bring a rotten decision; one that couldn't be afforded.

Three hours before departure, he decided to load what little luggage he carried into his car. It took him three good trips, but it all thankfully fit snugly in the trunk. With one final cup of tea, he set about to unplugging all electrical appliances and storing all important documents that he wasn't to bring along in his personal safe.

Pocketing his phone and wallet, Arthur stood at his door, looking over the neatly organized apartment from that very spot with a blank expression. His mind was a melting pot of negative vibes and suppressed emotions, but he denied himself the privilege of thought. He wouldn't think about it anymore. Not until he was finally in the air, on the way to the _country of love_. Only then he'd allow himself to regret his decision; he might also attempt to jump off said plane even if he had to take all the passengers with him.

Arthur shook his head, stepping out of the daze as he walked out into the hallway and locked the door behind him. Green eyes looked around fleetingly, a distant memory setting in before he shook it off as well.

He remembered that one night when Alfred 'saved' him from the thug in Central Park. The warm companionship he had offered on their way back… and that deliciously warm kiss just as he was about to say goodnight. So hesitant and sweet… Arthur stopped the train of thought when his eyes stung, moister beginning to form in their corners. He wouldn't allow it. He couldn't.

Storming down the hallway, he skipped the stairs and walked down a near half a block to get to his car. No more thinking if he wasn't able to keep his feelings and emotions in check.

The drive to the JFK International Airport was about a half hour long, so he'd be able take it slow even with the heavy traffic. And that he did. He blasted rock music as he drove, hooked up his wireless headset and spoke to Antonio for half the drive and even smoked a fag, which tasted utterly amazing after so long.

In the end, after check in and all was done, he had arrived at the gate with a good hour to spare. He thought they'd already be boarding since it had taken him quite a while to get his car checked into the parking lot, but all was as good as it got.

Arthur casually dropped down onto the cushioned leather seat, pulling out a paperback from his bag to entertain himself in the meantime. As he absently flipped through the pages looking for the one he had marked, he spared a brief look around the terminal and took in just how empty it actually was for an early evening flight. He also noticed the plane and thought it rather odd, but he didn't make much of it.

Twenty minutes later, he had read the same paragraph three times and each time his mind comprehended nothing. His mind was elsewhere, begging and tugging to draw its attention towards a more pressing matter than _Mr. Darcy_. Arthur continued to fight it even when he slammed the battered book shut and shoved it right back into the bag, reaching then for his phone instead. For a brief moment he considered calling Francis and asking if he was still at the meeting, but he didn't want to give the French bastard that kind of satisfaction. The thought that he might actually take that as _'concern'_ repulsed Arthur.

So instead, he ran through his contacts and stopped at the very first name listed there.

_Alfred_.

"Fuck." He muttered the curse to himself and pondered for a moment. That might just be the last time he'd be able to speak to Alfred in only God knows how long. Francis would be a constant presence along the trip, and hell, he wasn't even sure if his phone handled long distance. Slender fingertips drummed against the armrest as he stared on at the screen, his heart quickening when he finally tapped the contact, the screen flashing green as an image of a ringing phone blinked. Arthur waited. No answer came. He took it as a sign, but the moment the small contraption was slid into his pocket it began to vibrate. Expecting to see Francis' name on the caller ID, green eyes widened when he saw Alfred's instead. Taking a deep breath, he hesitated, and then tapped the screen. "Arthur Kirkland."

"_Yo, Arthur! Man I was surprised when I saw a call from you! Had I know, I would have kept the damn thing close. I'm at work so, we're gonna have to make this short. N-Not that I wanna be rude and stuff, ya' know. What's up?"_

Arthur's breath hitched in his throat as the exuberant voice rambled briefly in his ear, making him smile softly to himself as he leaned back into his seat. "Um… Hello, Alfred. I simply called to see how you were doing today."

Even with the short silence, Arthur could clearly see the huge grin. It made his fingers tingle. _"I'm great, man."_ The voice sounded lower, much to his surprise, but the Briton loved just how intimate it sounded. Just for his ears… just for him. _"Kind of tired and stuff, but I'm cool. You sound kind of out of it yourself. You at work?"_

"Oh, no. I actually have a few weeks off, thankfully enough—"

"_We should hang out!"_ Alfred interrupted before the other could finish his sentence. Normally the lack of manners would have annoyed the Briton, but at that moment he couldn't stop thinking about how endearing it was. _"You know, we can go bowling. Or we can hit the movies. Just as friends, obviously! I-If your boyfriend doesn't mind, haha. Wouldn't want to piss him off now. Do you wanna drop by the café now? It'd be… it'd be kind of nice to see you and stuff…"_

Arthur felt his heart twist painfully in his chest. Alfred sounded rather put off whenever he mentioned his boyfriend, reminding the Englishman that the American indeed wanted more than just their casual acquaintanceship. Arthur was still debating if the other was fully aware of that fact. Taking a quivering breath, he replied. "I would love to, but— wait, hold on. Alfred I'll have to call you back; I've got an incoming call."

"_Alright, baby. I'll be waiting!"_

He heard the line go dead and it might have taken him a moment, but soon enough red burst across his cheeks as he fumbled to take the incoming call. Baby; he had called him _baby_. _'Francis never calls me that…'_ This time, much to his dismay, it was Francis' name flashing on the screen. He half considered hanging up on him but something nudged him to pick it up. Almost immediately, he regretted the decision.

A string of heated French assaulted his ear quite loudly. Arthur picked up bits and pieces of the sea of curses and swears that was so unnatural for the usually suave Frenchman. Stunned, he was at a loss of words and therefore unable to tell him to calm his bleeding pants down. Instead he opted to just sit there and listen until his boss decided to speak normally.

"_O__ù vous êtes__? V__ous êtes en retard__!"_ Arthur was sure he'd be able to understand more than half the things if he listened carefully, but those two key phrases gave him just the heads-up he needed. However it only served to fuel his confusion.

"Fran—Francis! _Francis_! Would you please be quiet and— _Francis_, you bloody fuck!" The Englishman immediately dropped his tone when several people cast him an annoyed glance. As if they'd never sworn before. "I can't understand half the things you're yelling about." Arthur straightened up in his chair, looking around as he pressed the phone closer to his ear.

"_You said you'd be here early! You have no excuse, Kirkland! I practically ran out of that office to get here just in the nick of time and you just take your precious little time! What is the damn meaning of this… this…?"_ The man broke off into French again, leaving Arthur stunned in his seat.

"I'm at the gate." He quickly jumped to his feet and whipped around to look at the small crowd spread out across the large waiting area. No visible sign of Francis. With a huff, he scratched at his chin, letting the hand fall to rest at his hip. Maybe it was a trick? For all he knew the French swine was probably hiding behind a pillar having a good laugh at his expense. "Just calm down and tell me where you are. Who's sitting next to you? Are you near a window or?"

The man over the line took a loud inhale, and if Arthur didn't know better, he was probably tugging at his beard in frustration. Despite the headache, the Briton felt somewhat satisfied. _"I am sitting in the first row beside the window. The one where the plane is parked. I am near the ticket desk."_ Terse words sounded foreign in Francis' accent.

Green eyes scanned the area, thick eyebrows knitting when he came across the mentioned row. It was empty; and he was now convinced that the asshole was pulling a trick on him. "Would you please stop it? I'm not in the mood for—" Arthur's voice faded as he heard something else in the background, his blood freezing almost instantly. "You have got to be fucking kidding me." And that phrase, he had learnt from Alfred.

The stewardess spoke over the loudspeakers, informing that coach was beginning to board. Which meant that First Class was already on the plane; which also meant that… _that what_? _"Arthur. Which gate did you say you were at?"_

In a heartbeat, Arthur looked at the number over the desk. His palms felt sweaty. "Gate 103."

"_Mon cher."_ He could hear the sarcasm dripping from Francis' voice along with a million and one gallons of poison. _"Our flight departs from gate 301."_

Suddenly, the lack of people made sense. The _British Airways_ airplane sitting out in the tarmac also clicked into place. Of course that wasn't his place to be. Of course that wasn't his plane. And of course, he was on the opposite side of one of America's largest and busiest airports. "You've already boarded."

"_I'm standing at the gate, waiting for the rest of the passengers to board so that I can go along with you. That is, if you so decide to get here before the plane leaves, bien s__û__r__."_

With a loud curse Arthur slammed his phone shut, jammed it in his pocket and gathered his belongings in record speed before dashing off in the same direction he had come from. Of course, it was a fool's errand to even think he would have been able to reach the gate before the plane departed. That didn't stop the near suffocating rage that seared through him once he arrived at the desolate area.

Customs had been quite a hassle since it required for him to go through the checkpoint once again. No matter how much he had argued, it was either subject to it again or get removed from the airport. Eventually he quieted down and did as he was told. A few halls later, he found that the specific area was under maintenance and he was once again forced to wait as heavy machinery was dragged across. Once Arthur reached the final corridor that led directly to his appointed gate, the heel to his shoe broke off. It took all his might not to yell and get arrested in the empty gate, but that didn't stop him from kicking a bin rather forcefully.

In the end, anger and frustration melted into ire when he looked at his phone. No missed calls, just one measly text message. Francis simply said that he'd arrange a ticket for the next flight to France, but nothing more. Not the slightest nudge of effort to contact him properly.

He hadn't waited.

Bonnefoy had simply gotten on the plane and left, instead of taking the logical course of action and waiting for Arthur to arrive; even if it meant them taking the next plane out of the country. But no. He had just gotten into his comfortable little First Class seat and took off. Heavens knew what he was already doing by then; probably hitting on the stewardess and cupping a feel whenever they walked by. Sipping on martinis and laughing in that rich voice of his is if it hadn't been his boyfriend the one that was left standing like an idiot at the gate. And the saddest bit of it all was the fact that Francis Bonnefoy was perfectly capable of doing such debaucheries in his absence.

It was always the same in the end, the Englishman thought as he stared at the locked door a few feet away. Always left behind because no one would wait for him whenever he made a mistake. A stupid, insignificant mistake. All the same… They were all the same. Each and every one.

With a broken shoe and misty eyes, Arthur simply stood there. Even when the janitors had come in to clean the area sparing him uninterested glances, he stared on at the gray door.

_The next flight…_ There was no next flight because Arthur downright refused to go to him. He would no longer waste his time on Francis, no matter who said or did what. If it costs him his job, he quite frankly did not care. For whatever was left might as well bring on the rest. That was the kind of thing he didn't need in life. That was how it usually all started. He refused to go down with the same ship twice. Arthur was done running. He was done being the desperate coward seeking for poisoned affection…

In his pocket, his phone began to vibrate. Without bothering to look at who it was, he simply opened it, tapped the screen and pressed it to his ear. He didn't greet whoever was on the line, simply waited for them to speak. It took them a while to break the silence, but when they did it was enough to snap Arthur out of his numb haze.

"_Are you okay, Art?"_ Arthur's hands began to tremble. _"If you want to talk you know I'm your guy. I'm probably not a sage or whatever… but I can listen and stuff."_ The voice was surprisingly gentle. No matter how hard the Briton tried to fight it, a soft almost inaudible sob slipped out.

"No." He heard Alfred speaking to someone in the background and then noise faded; the chatter from the café silencing on the other end. "No, I'm not…" He wasn't sure if he was saying it because he thought Alfred had missed it, or because he was finally admitting it to himself. That after so many years, after so many lies and covers, he wasn't okay.

"_Just stay where you are, I'll come for you. Are you at your place?" _Arthur could hear the stress in Alfred's voice, but he couldn't bring himself feel anything for it.

"At the airport."

"_Okay, you stay right there and don't move. I'll be there as soon as I can, Arthur. Can you wait for me at the main entrance? Even if I just… told you not to move…heh."_ The sound of rustling clothes told Arthur that he was probably removing his apron as they spoke. He nodded even though Alfred couldn't see him; he made no effort in getting the point across. Alfred sensed it anyways. _"Good then. I'll be there in a few." _The line went silent, and even after it did, the phone stayed pressed against Arthur ear.

It took Alfred a good hour to reach the airport in a cab and thankfully it didn't take him that long to find Arthur. He was sitting on a bench just outside the main entrance, and he found himself slowing his step for a brief moment. Maybe it wasn't the correct time to just stand aside and admire just how good Arthur looked dressed that way… but God he looked fucking gorgeous. Relief coursed through him when he saw him unharmed, but a knot tightened in his stomach with ever step he took. Puffy cheeks and red eyes told him that something had gone down and Alfred found himself between feeling sad and angry at the whole unknown ordeal.

Green eyes looked up at him as he stood before the bench, that frown deeper than he had ever seen before and it almost made him feel sick to his stomach. Alfred fought against the knot in his throat, searching for his voice amidst the near choking sadness he felt bubbling too close to the surface. "Sorry I took so long." His was barely above a whisper, but still there as he smiled wistfully at the blonde man.

Alfred nearly lost his footing when the solid weight of Arthur's body slammed into his, slender arms coming up to tightly wrap themselves around the American's midriff. Not missing a beat, he returned the gesture, holding the cold man to him in a desperate attempt to console him and keep him warm. Soft sobs echoed against his neck and he could do nothing but rock to and fro, a large hand soothingly running along the smaller back.

Right then, Alfred had no time to blush for whatever the reason. He didn't care what people thought of the scene playing out right before their wandering eyes. Arthur was the sole point of his attention at that very moment and if he had to stand there and hold him in his arms, then damn it all he'd do it with no regrets. An odd kind of warmth settled in him, understanding dawning in him that he wasn't only just an acquaintance anymore. He was Arthur's confident, and he had never felt prouder.

Pressing a kiss atop of the tussled blonde hair, Alfred let out a soft chuckle meant as an endearing gesture. Arthur straightened a bit in his grasp, clearing his throat but refusing to pull away from the worn leather jacket just yet. He was letting Alfred know that he had his attention even while he was acting like a spoiled child craving for affection. The American found it rather cute.

"Let's get you out of the cold, okay? I have a taxi waiting for us just off the curb." He tried to coax Arthur into reacting a bit more, but the Briton only shook his head.

"My car is in the lot."

Straining to hear the gruff mumble, Alfred nodded. "Come on then, I'll drive you home." But Arthur refused to budge still. "Arti?"

"… I don't want to go home." Alfred was taken aback at the words.

Fixing his crooked glasses, he stared down at the flustered man who was now staring at the star on his jacket in turn. Overall Arthur looked like he had just gone through a very long day and he wasn't about to argue. Instead, he opted for softly running his fingers through the short locks of hair, making the Brit blush a few shades darker but he didn't pull away.

"You can crash at my place if you want. We can get some Chinese on the way and you can take my bed if you decide to stay over. I'll take the couch." The bright chime in Alfred's voice was back in an attempt to brighten up the green eyed beauty, patting him on the shoulder as he pulled him towards the parking lot. "It'll be fun! Kind of like a sleepover. We can make popcorn and eat ice cream and just crash while watching a movie! I hope you aren't the kind of guy that parks and then forgets where you left your car. Because that would really suck, y'know?"

Pulling out his wallet, Arthur fished for a yellow ticket and his key. He was beginning to get used to Alfred's verbal whiplash and inconstant thoughts. That didn't make it any less annoying at times. "Valet."

"You're a smart guy after all."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I thought you were all looks and no brain!"

Arthur stopped walking and opted to stare at the insufferable American. He was torn between taking that as an insult or a compliment. He played it safe. "Have you even been paying attention these last few weeks? All we've talked about? You still take me as some ignorant buffoon?"

The smile was nearly blinding as Alfred looked back at him, blue eyes running along the shorter and a lot more slender silhouette. It didn't feel like he was being undressed by those eyes, unlike that constant aura that bastard emanated; instead it felt like Alfred was admiring what he had on. "I was just complimenting you, jerk."

"W-Well…"

"You look really nice dressed that way. Just saying. Gives you that whole European look." The American shrugged as he crossed the road headed to the parking lot, Arthur close on his heels. He felt awfully bubbly inside, more than usual, knowing that his crush was there by his side. Fuming sure, and a bit depressed, but still there. Alfred had come to his rescue and he had never felt prouder of himself. "Bet you've knocked a few people off their feet, eh, you stud?"

"Belt it." Arthur finally caught up with him, nearly pressing onto his side as they walked towards the valet. He was aware that he was acting overly needy and vulnerable, but he allowed himself the small slip. Company was something he craved for at the moment and who better than Alfred to fulfill the sudden need. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, babe."

It took then a near forty minutes to get Arthur's car delivered to them, the service being rather backed up with the stream of people coming in and out. Alfred wondered exactly why he was at the airport, looking so nice and trimmed. Maybe he was seeing someone off? It was unlikely he would park in the lot if it meant dropping someone off, so that option was checked off. Did he miss a plane? He took note of the small luggage perched at Arthur's side, so that seemed like the likeliest occurrence. Or maybe he was waiting for someone to arrive. That could explain the stormy look in his eyes.

In the end Alfred opted out on asking. He would wait until Arthur had calmed down to then question what was wrong. In the meantime, he'd stick to him and see that he had everything he needed to be comfortable. Fleeting glances were exchanged as they waited, but the time was spent in silence. Arthur now took to himself and his distance, but that didn't stop the longing looks he gave Alfred. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to run into those arms but he had to maintain himself upright. Had to compose and remember himself and the fact that he and Francis were still a couple. Arthur was a great many negative things, but unfaithful wasn't one of them. No matter how much his partner deserved it. No matter how much he wanted to do so.

The drive back to Alfred's place was spent in light chatter, both of them arguing over which opponent was better between space cowboys and pirates. They both brought up various books and movies, some comics and one video game Alfred claimed to have played on the internet. Even if in the end neither won the argument, since a certain someone had to throw ninjas into the mix, it had served to lighten Arthur's mood by a little, getting him to laugh at how ridiculous Alfred was being. It had calmed their frizzled nerves.

Relief shadowed everything else when Arthur walked through the threshold into Alfred's apartment, even if he twisted his nose at how disorganized it all was. There were condiments scattered across the countertops, a few dirty mugs and plates in the sink and a fork on top of a math book. The floor was rather tidy though, but he still watched his step as he went further in.

"Make yourself at home!"

For being the apartment of a student who worked a part-time in a coffee shop, the place was pretty damn impressive. "Daddy paying for your place?" He knew it was a rather rude thing to say, but judging by how he was feeling, he could be so much more rude if he so pleased.

"Yup. He wants me to focus on my studies and he doesn't exactly like to keep me around so he got me my own place. Cool, huh?" Alfred made his way to his bedroom, gesturing for Arthur to follow. "I'd say it isn't much, but… it kind of is. I don't even ask how much he pays for it; it'd probably send me in a major guilt trip."

"You can't buy love. Money doesn't express affection."

"Dad's like that. We don't really talk a lot because of it… He keeps saying I'm too naïve for the world. Last guys finish last and all that shit."

Arthur stared at the young man who at that moment seemed even younger. His brilliant smile seemed sad as he pushed the door open and allowed him to enter. "They do, most of the times."

"I don't believe that. Call me what you want, and even if it's true, I'll go down with my ship." Alfred turned his smile to Arthur with nothing but honesty in his big eyes and shrugged a little. "I'd like to believe that good things come to those who do good in the long run. No matter how long it takes. Even if they have to do little evil to achieve a greater good."

Stunned green eyes stared at the young man leaning against the doorframe. Arthur understood that Alfred meant every word that he had just said, and that he also understood the gravity of it all. Whatever lurked behind those glasses might have been honest and innocent, but there was a scar that ran deeper than anything he could fathom. Alfred had experienced firsthand the coldness of the world although it had not been as severe as Arthur's ride… but the lack of a parent's love was something he didn't wish upon his worst of enemies.

That aside, he was surprised that Alfred could express himself so eloquently. "Here I thought you were all looks and no brain."

The burst of laughter made Arthur ease into a small smile as he watched Alfred wave it off. "Naw, that's just me being a sourpuss. Anyways! This is my room. Nice and big. Closet is over here and if you slide this here…" He nudged a barely visible notch on the wall right across his bed, and a rather large compartment exposed itself. "You get the flat screen T.V. HD, baby. Impressive, isn't it?"

"That is ridiculously marvelous." Arthur said with a laugh as he marveled at the cunning idea. Nice and safe. He turned towards the bed then, crossing his arms before his chest. "Do you usually sleep on a bare bed?"

"Uh, no, heh." Rushing out of the room, Alfred made quick of getting a handful of fresh sheets from the laundry pile. "I was in the process of washing them this morning before my boss called me in for work. So I kind of left before I could get it dressed." He yelled from the other room, making sure to throw whatever other dishes were dirty into the sink in the meantime. Never in his life had Alfred wished he had cleaned up as much as he did right then.

Arthur walked along the room, taking in the beige carpeted floors as it cushioned his steps. He was no one to deny the dirty little thoughts that fleetingly crossed his mind. _'This would make it rather easier on the knees…'_ Unlike the rest of the apartment, the room was surprisingly clean for the exception of a pair of jeans strewn over desk. The right wall was nothing but a solid piece of glass and a sliding door that led onto a private patio. In the heart of New York City… that place indeed must have cost a fortune. High ceiling, white walls and white furniture and silver-colored details, the room looked like something out of a magazine.

"Here we go. Nice and clean." Alfred barged back into his room, dumping the neatly folded sheets on the queen-sized bed. "What is it?"

"I half expected those to be Indian satin." The Briton joked as he dropped onto the bed, making himself comfortable without Alfred signaling him to. Alfred seemed pleased by that, though.

"No way, man. Those tend to stick, so they aren't as comfortable as you think they are. These are Egyptian cotton."

"You have got to be joking."

"That's what the label says. I just bought them at Wal-Mart."

"Alfred F. Jones… you are something else entirely." With that, Arthur allowed himself to drop his head onto the pillows, looking up at a pair of mesmerizing blue puddles deep enough to drown him. "Thank you."

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_To be Continued._

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	10. Chapter 10

_Falling in Love in New York City_

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CHAPTER 10

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"Okay, so. We've got… pajamas, whatever pants I'll be able to find in your closet, whatever shirts I'll find, preferably button downs and some sweater vests and anything particularly geeky looking; socks in all colors, brown shoes since you already have your black ones on… What else am I missing? Bow ties?"

Arthur groaned as he rummaged through the cabinets of Alfred's kitchen, looking for anything that might be able to even resemble tea in the slightest degree. Anything to not drink that damn bitter as hell coffee that stood there ever so mockingly, just beckoning him to take a blasted drink. Trust an American to have nothing appealing to his tastes in their apartment, typical, but that didn't stop Arthur from becoming annoyed. Somehow, he had expected for Alfred to have those sorts of things, being a barista and all. "Yes, yes, that's about right. I still don't see why you don't deem me fit enough to go get those myself. It's almost like you want to sneak into my apartment, you sneaky bastard." He threw Alfred a knowing sidelong look, making the other gawk at him.

"You don't exactly look like you're in the mood to do much driving. I'm only doing you a favor, so don't come treating me like a stalker." Alfred's grin was wide and beaming as he scribbled down on his notepad, checking off the items on the list. "Is there anything else you want?"

"Tea. I have an unopened box by my stove. And…" Arthur stopped for a moment, remembering something extremely important that he needed on his person. His cheeks colored at the thought of asking Alfred, someone who he had just met a matter of weeks ago, to bring those along.

"And what?" Jumping up on the counter, Alfred gave him a funny look. "What is it?" He swung his long legs from side to side; making sure he bumped Arthur's hip as he did so. Touching. He wanted to touch him… and not only to just get his attention.

"Are you sure you aren't some type of creepy stalker?" Arthur peaked from the corner of his eye, gauging Alfred's reaction while looking rather suspicious. In truth, he was just trying to hide the embarrassing blush that had spread like wildfire.

Blue eyes stared steadily at the Brit who refused to look at him entirely, taking the moment to take in the sharp angles of his face from the side view. The soft curve of his cheek gave him the urge to lean in and kiss it; the same could be said for the feathery soft looking hair as well. "Let's look at it this way. If I am a creepy stalker, I already have you in my apartment. What need would I have to creep on your place when I've got the real thing at arm's length?"

He couldn't deny it; Arthur's heart fluttered in his chest, making his stomach churn in what seemed to be anticipation, as deeply disturbing as it all sounded. He had liked the answer for some reason, mostly because he caught the underlying meaning that the American wasn't lying or joking about it. Wire framed glasses didn't hide the seriousness of his words as those eyes stared openly at him, and he couldn't resist staring back. But Arthur's eyes trained themselves on the suddenly tight line that had become of Alfred's lips. "Seems like a rather legitimate answer."

Alfred's lips parted slightly, his breath hitching at the look in Arthur's eyes. He mentally begged for it to be what he thought it was; he wanted more than anything to embrace the fact that maybe, just maybe, Arthur wanted him just he much as he wanted the Englishman. It might have been wrong of him, but Alfred opted to act on impulse, reaching out for the flustered gentleman and pulling him closer. Much to his surprise, Arthur followed suit. "It does, doesn't it?"

It had would have been cliché if Arthur thought he had no idea what he was doing, but as it turned out, he did. He knew perfectly well what he was doing and what shouldn't be done but it wasn't enough to stop him as he slid in between Alfred's legs, hips pinned by the American's knees. Hands were kept strictly on the countertop, itching to touch the well built body but he denied himself that pleasure for the time being. No words could describe just how much he wanted Jones at that moment; how much he wanted to touch and taste and undress. His breathing became heavy.

That didn't mean that Alfred was on the same page as him. He on the other hand allowed his hands to roam, touching along Arthur's back as he pulled him flush against his chest. It was intoxicating. The touch felt nothing like it did in his dreams and fantasies and he relished how that moment felt so real. Like it couldn't escape him if he broke his concentration. Arthur was right there in his arms, leaning against his body, shaking softly. Pure and solid heat.

They stood there in the kitchen, idly pressed against each other as Alfred's hands caressed and explored the smaller body with something akin to adoration and curiosity. Arthur simply stood there. He wanted to return the fleeting touches, but his conscience wouldn't allow him. Hate Francis or not, it wasn't right to be unfaithful. He knew the pain of it and that was something he never wished upon anybody, not even his most loathed enemy. But he couldn't deny that he wanted the attention, that the soft touches were making him melt against the young American.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" Alfred whispered the words just above the other's ear, not a single hint of hesitation in them. Soft-spoken but firm, demanding an answer; Arthur had to shiver.

"I wouldn't quite know." It came out sounding more like a mindless mumble, too focused on his senses to really think about the question. That didn't stop him from giving the automatic reply. "Do you?"

He felt the nod instead seeing it, his face too busy being buried in Alfred's chest. "I'm starting to think I do, yeah."

"Hm." It took Arthur a moment for the thought to sink in, and once it did, he immediately pulled away at a near panic. "Alfred, I…"

"I know, Art. I don't want you to think that that's why I brought you here or anything, okay?" Leaning down, Alfred pressed kiss on to the other's cheek, taking in the gorgeous red hue of them. He sounded unnaturally calm, almost subdued even and that somehow disturbed Arthur in more forms than one. Not that he was protesting. A quiet and lovingly sweet Alfred fawning and confessing his love to him was all he could ever ask for.

Gave him all the more reason to pull away.

"Have you had anything to drink this evening? Your tongue is awfully loose. And not in the same way as it usually is." Arthur attempted to chuckle, battling the blush and urge to just take the young man on the spot. Come to think of it, he was taking it a lot better than he had expected it to. Thank goodness for being the mature adult he was. "Not that I'm not flattered at the attention… or surprised even. I'll admit that the sexual tension is a lot harder to ignore than I thought."

The exaggerated cheer that burst out of the American nearly knocked Arthur off his feet, making him stumble at least two steps back. If it hadn't had been for the other's quick reflexes and caught his arm, he was sure he would have fallen on his ass. Alfred jumped down from the counter, bringing Arthur into his arms for a tight and overly giddy hug, spinning them around like a kid who had just seen his favorite cousin for the first time in months. "This is so fucking awesome! I thought I was the only one who felt this way and shit!"

That last statement somewhat ruined the overwhelming experience for Arthur as he struggled to break free from the nearly twirling bear hug. His mind was spinning at a million miles per hour; he needed to get his bearings straight. So far, Alfred had more or less confessed to being in love. So much for being the straight one of the two. And secondly… he thought that the feeling was requited. That's where Arthur had to pull the reigns to a screeching halt.

Surely, he liked Alfred. He enjoyed his company and the attention and the nearly constant longing look those blue eyes held. Of course he wanted to bang him like there was no tomorrow, but it was all just a severe case of sexual frustration. Good ol' lust. Nothing a good all night fuck couldn't cure. And yet there Alfred was, talking about _feelings_ and _love_. Once upon a time he thought he knew the difference of the two, but in the end he figured it was all just one and the same. The love concept was just an excuse to settle down with one person to have sex with for the rest of their miserable lives. In Arthur's twisted thoughts, it made Alfred's enthusiasm seem hypocritical at best but he just dismissed it as him being naïve. He didn't mean Arthur any harm; he just didn't know what he was talking about, naturally.

"Easy there, cowboy. I didn't say anything of the sort."

"But you just—"

"We've known each other for a mere handful of weeks, Alfred. How could you possibly even think that you're in love with me? Hell, if sitting in a coffee shop even qualifies as you getting to know me. Look at yourself in the mirror and then slowly take at look at me. There is no logic in that. Yes, a person can become physically attracted to someone else the moment they set eyes on them; it's called lust. You are in lust with me and that is perfectly understandable but do not refer to that as love at first sight because it isn't." Arthur stopped himself before he could ramble on, cheeks puffed and vibrant red. Hands fisted at his sides, they began to tremble. He was being the rational one of the two, just exposing the faults and false hopes that might have come from it.

That didn't stop the infernal twisting in his chest and stomach.

He stood firm and true to his beliefs, and no matter how large Alfred's eyes got, he would stick to them. Even if they continued to water the way they currently were doing.

Fuck.

"Ah…" Alfred fidgeted on his spot, his eyes trained on the worked up Brit. Sure the outburst had kind of stung, and he was beginning to feel stupidly embarrassed at his own overly-enthusiastic words. The grin was still in place, not as vibrant but still present. It was Arthur who was standing there, and no matter what he said or did, he would always be worthy of his best smile. So he kept on smiling, all teeth, as his heart slowly began to break.

"I am not saying these things to spite you, Alfred." His voice softened as he began to lose the battle with himself. He couldn't do this. He couldn't bear the thought of the sadness in those eyes being caused by him. Alfred was too beautiful to be marred by his own ugliness. "I simply do not wish for you to get hurt. In truth I'm glad you somewhat told me so early on—"

"It doesn't matter when. The feeling's still there." He interrupted earnestly, tilting his head with a small smile.

Arthur cleared his throat. "There are no feelings."

"Say what you want, man. Not like I'm going to pay attention to you anyways. It's not the same, if this were lust as you call it I wouldn't have even bothered. I like chicks, okay? You know, tits and stuff. I'm perfectly aware that you aren't one, and that's why I know. The only explanation as to why I'd even bother to look at you the way I do is because I'm in…" He stilled to a halt, looking down at his feet for a brief moment before leaning back against the counter. "If it was sex, I could have picked any of the girls I study with. If it was just lust, I could have called fucking Gilbert and bought a few beers. But instead all I want to do is hang out with a stuffy old man who hates the world because he thinks the world hate him. Well it doesn't. I don't hate you and I most definitely don't want to just have sex with you regardless of what you think or say."

"You are impossible to deal with!"

"What are you so afraid of?"

Green eyes widened enough to make those large eyebrows disappear beneath the mop of unruly hair. Opening his mouth to retort, he found that he couldn't. It had come out of nowhere, and he wasn't quite conscious of any fear he might have had, but the question seemed to have nudged his thoughts for a brief moment. "Excuse me?"

"You're not this cynical, I know you're not. I've seen who you are over the time we've known each other—"

"You don't know me!" He could feel himself become more defensive by the second, raising his voice loud enough to be considered yelling.

"Damn straight I do! You can't tell me this nasty person standing in front of me is the real one opposed to those shy smiles and awkward fidgeting you would do across the booth. I could hear how honest and… and _simple_ you were. I could see the sadness. Now you're just… being stupid and stubborn! Acting like some tough guy when you can't even get your story straight."

"Oh really? And how exactly do you know that?"

"Because you haven't even mentioned your fucking boyfriend!"

Arthur froze in astonishment. Alfred was, blast him for ever admitting it, right. He hadn't even remembered Francis throughout the whole discussion, or he had, but he simply didn't deem him worthy enough to be mentioned. Gaping at the sudden loss of words, he simply brought himself to a full stop. The entire conversation was just too insane to begin with. A pair of strangers discussing feelings; one of them in a relationship with someone of the same sex and the other was as straight as an arrow.

It made no fucking sense in his head.

"Thank you for being kind enough to welcome me into your home, but I must be going." Turning on his heels, Arthur went for his carryon bag, bent on getting out of the place before the insolent _boy_ made him second guess himself and his already firmly set beliefs. "If ever you wish me to repay your kindness in any way, please, don't hesitate to give me a call."

He turned to see a stubbornly pouting American leaning heavily against the door, arms crossed before his chest. "I don't want to be repaid for anything. I want you to stay safe. And I can't do that unless you stay here where I can keep an eye on you."

"Your stalker tendencies are showing."

"Well I don't care. Much rather have you thinking I'm a stalker than letting you go home and do something stupid." Alfred turned his face away, turning up his nose in a way that could only be considered childish. "I'll even take back everything I just said. It's not like I expect you to return whatever this is, but if you want me to take it back then fine. I will."

It was ridiculous. The entire thing was ridiculous. Arthur deflated after a few moments of intense silence, letting his bag drop onto the floor with a sigh. He turned towards the small living room, picking up the DVDs strew all over the couch and neatly setting them on the table before plopping down on it in defeat. Resting his head back, he peered up at Alfred who was now looming over him, a not so pleased look on his face. It was decided, Alfred indeed was a spoiled child living off daddy's money, as he had thought all along. Whenever he didn't get his way, he would automatically flip into a stubborn twat with a perpetual pout.

"Do what you wish then, I'm not stopping you. Want to snoop in my apartment? Go ahead. Want to tie me up while I'm asleep and screw me? Be my guest. I don't give a fuck what you want to do to me, Alfred. My boyfriend wouldn't give a fuck either, so nothing's holding you back." It somehow scared Alfred, just how dead serious Arthur sounded as he calmly laid it all out. Green eyes bore into his unwaveringly, so terribly resigned that it made his stomach twist unpleasantly. It almost felt like Arthur truly didn't care what happened to him, no matter how horrible it was.

"I don't get some people." Alfred started, putting his hands on either side of Arthur's head and leaning down to better look at him. "How can they see the unrealistic ugliness instead of the blatant goodwill? I haven't even given you a reason to think that I'd do something so… so nasty. Instead I've been trying to be the hero, which I am, and help you in any way I can. I like you, Arthur. And it took me an all-nighter and a very long conversation with a friend of mine to notice that."

"You're confused, Alfred. You're young. Your hormones are taking control of your body and you're going to have to learn how to control them. Look at me; and I mean really look at me. Somewhere in my early thirties… and then look at you. Not even twenty one. I'm an old bitter man who has nothing to offer opposed to the bright future you'll be able to make for yourself. There are so many pretty young girls you can date. Someday marry and be off— and for fucks sake I feel like I'm talking to my son!"

"You have a son?"

"No. I mean it in the sense that I shouldn't be telling you these things. Discussing sexuality and dating and the proper age for—for whatever is just… It doesn't all belong in the same conversation. Not from a stranger." Arthur pressed the palm of his hand to his face with a huff of frustration. Slowly but surely a migraine had crept up and was now at full force, making the side of his head bang with every speeding thought. "I don't even know why I'm bothering anyways."

"Because you secretly love me." Alfred grinned at the deadpan look on Arthur's face the moment he lifted his hand; a look that slowly melted into a glare. "And you find me irresistible. So much, in fact, that you're planning on ditching your boyfriend and coming away with me. Because you need a little bit more drama in your life before you get your happily ever after. Then we can move to Hawaii or something." Balancing himself on the balls of his feet, he swayed from side to side, still grinning down at the flustered Englishman.

"You make it harder to take you seriously by the second."

"Hey." Pressing a kiss onto Arthur's forehead, he pulled away with a dazzling smile. One that not even the stuffy old Brit could resist. "I am being honest. Yeah, you have a point at the whole age and not exactly knowing each other thing. But time is on our side, isn't it? We could date, properly, and see where it goes from there. For all I know, if I'm a rapist as you say, then you're probably a serial killer. Technically we'd be one and the same but you're right, I'd much rather avoid unnecessary surprises."

"You conveniently keep forgetting my boyfriend."

"Like I said, you ditch him. Guy's an asshole anyways."

"You don't even know him!" Arthur sounded strikingly, if a little too dramatically, offended, but the sudden laugh that accompanied his statement accented the already obvious sarcasm.

"Don't have to. You're always miserable as fuck, you spend almost every evening at the café, you've said so yourself that you absolutely despise him, and you also just said that he wouldn't give the slightest fuck if anything were to happen to you. Plus! Judging by the way you're dressed, I bet he didn't even bother to pick you up at the airport."

"Actually, he left without me."

"I rest my case."

"Still." Arthur got to his feet, unable to remain still and walked around the modern looking couch to stand before his current nuisance. "That gives you no right to judge someone you don't know."

"Then why do you keep judging me?" If Alfred's eyes were to get any larger, Arthur feared they would pop out of their sockets. The whole puppy eyed thing was just ridiculous, especially for someone Alfred's age. He had a point though, a fact that irked him more than he thought it would.

"You baffle me."

"In a good way or…"

"How can that be in any way positive?" Crossing his arms, Arthur looked off towards where his coat was hung, torn between being amused or severely irritated. "I'm still not sleeping with you."

"Never said I wanted you to." Walking back into the kitchen, Alfred hunted through his refrigerator for a can of soda. "Want one?" Arthur shook his head. Taking the coldest can, he popped it open before jumping up on the counter again, swinging his legs as his eyes bore at the Englishman. "I just want to get to know you better."

"Why?" He was still unable to wrap his mind around the possible answer to that question. Alfred was not making any sense at all; at least not to him.

"And people call me the oblivious one. Do I have to spell it out for you? Here's a hint, I've told you a million times since this conversation started." Taking a swig from the can, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "I like you, Arthur. I'm telling you this now because… I don't know when I'll have the balls to say it again. You're like… the last person I'd want to date, but I want to. I don't get it either, and I know that you being the whole older and wiser of the two are in the same boat as me. It's not like I'm going to force you or anything, but… you know."

"No, I don't know. I don't get you in the slightest."

"Maybe that means we're doing it right?"

"How, exactly?"

"Some things can't be explained, I guess."

"You are absolutely insane, you sod."

"I'm not the one agreeing to crash at a stranger's place."

Arthur turned to gawk at him, earning himself a good laugh from the kid on the counter. "You are impossible! You're practically forcing me to stay here."

"I'm not forcing you to do anything." Even through the laughter, Arthur picked up the certain seriousness behind that statement. His words and actions went against his very personality in a way that left him speechless. Alfred was one huge jumble of contradictions that he still couldn't find himself being able to handle. "The door's right there, bro. You stay if you want."

With a loud huff, Arthur walked up to him and gave his shoulder a good shove. "Go get my bloody things, will you?"

Just like that, the heavy atmosphere was lifted. Alfred beamed at him with dazzling force, jumping off and pulling Arthur into a tight hug. Without the slightest idea of what he was getting into, he felt awfully giddy. Elizaveta had been right. Perhaps it wasn't a groundbreaking turn of events, but it was a positive one nonetheless. "Aye, aye, captain!"

"Oh shut it."

Slipping on his sneakers, Alfred pranced around the apartment in search for his keys. Night had already fallen and it was too damn cold to go out on his bike, so he'd play it safe and take his car. Reaching for his toasty bomber jacket, he shrugged it on and zipped it all the way up, struggling with the zipper a bit along the way. Lastly, he pocketed the notepad.

"What was that last thing you needed, Art? You never told me."

Snapping out of his reverie it took him a moment to analyze the question. "Oh." He was thinking too far into the situation, scrutinizing every word and action Alfred had muttered and tried to make some sense out of it all. Any kind of motive that could be driving him, or even a mental illness of some sort. It was hard to just decide on a definitive answer. If only he could just peer into that odd mind of his then maybe he could grasp the gravity of it all. Sex, love, feelings, strangers, meant to be, horrible boyfriends and sexually confused teenagers… He was having a field day.

"Arthur? You with me, man?"

A tap on the shoulder startled him for the second time in less than ten seconds. Things were getting serious. "Sorry, come again?"

"Dude, what the hell's wrong with you?"

"Nothing, it's nothing. Just tired is all. Ah! Underwear. I need underwear. Honest to God, you giggle and I will hit you."

Alfred immediately slapped his hand over his mouth the moment a giggle tried to slip out, but if the eye squinting was any indication, he was having a riot. Maturity still had some catching up to do. Straightening up, he made sure to take deep even breathes before deeming it safe to put his hand down. "Right! Underwear. Any kind in specific? Boxers, briefs… thongs?"

He earned that slap.

"Shut your trap and go get my fucking things before I go get them myself."

"Alright, alright, jeez, I'm going." Rubbing at his throbbing cheek with a pout, he made for the door. Arthur threw him his apartment's keys on the way out. "I'll be back in a jiff. Make yourself at home and if you need anything, just call me."

"It can't take you more than an hour; stop acting like you're driving up to Queens. Be careful now." Arthur stood by the door, holding it open as Alfred stepped out into the hall; he tried to keep his mind blank all the while. Instead, a much more horrible thought slipped in through the cracks. He could feel the déjà vu settle in; and judging by the look behind those glasses, the other did too.

Alfred's permanent smile dimmed in magnitude, but not meaning. It took a sweeter hue as opposed to the mindless bright ray of sunshine that it usually was as he leaned against the doorframe, curling his suddenly gloved fingers underneath the chin and tilting Arthur's head up to better look at him. "We've come a long way already in such little time, you know. Doesn't seem like that long ago; the night when I stole that kiss."

"The night when it all went downhill for me, you mean."

"Oh?"

Shaking his head, Arthur pushed at Alfred's chest, breaking free from the overly clichéd stance. "Never mind, just hurry back. I'm dying to get out of these blasted clothes."

"I will, I will. But give us a kiss first." He puckered up.

"In your dreams."

"Please?" The big eyes were back. Arthur deadpanned. "Just a small peck?"

"Alfred we just talked about this. Fra—" The comeback was cut short when Alfred pressed their mouths together for a brief moment, lips moving hesitantly before pulling away a mere second later.

Blue eyes remained trained on those suddenly delicious looking lips. "You were saying?"

Without much thinking, Arthur lashed out and took a healthy handful of Alfred's golden hair, pulling him down again for another, more forceful kiss. Strictly lips of course, but that didn't stop him from brushing them repeatedly over Alfred's own less seasoned ones, giving them a small nip. He pulled away with a muttered _'fuck'_, suddenly remembering himself before he took it too far. "My apologies."

Taking a moment to breathe, Alfred let out a breathy laugh he hadn't known he was holding back, licking his lips while fighting the urge to downright make out with the Briton. "S'okay. That was fucking hot." His goofy smile was heartwarming.

Clearing his throat, Arthur couldn't help but smirk. He still had it, and he fought the urge to brag about it. "Go ahead, boy. If you behave, who knows? Might be more where that came from."

"Tease."

With a smirk, Arthur pulled the door shut, a blushing but smirking American on the other side. He sighed. The situation had just spiraled from bad to worse. Not only that, he was allowing himself to be pulled into the whole disastrous shebang. Alfred drove a harder bargain than he had expected him to, his charm and honest kindness was making him melt faster than butter by a stove. As stubborn as he was, he was sure he wouldn't be able to fight him for that much longer. His disconcerting thoughts were just excuses conjured up in the form of a shield, for he wasn't just about to stand aside and let a complete stranger come waltzing in just like that. He was skating on thin ice as it was, he didn't need the extra weight.

Rolling up his sleeves, Arthur made for the kitchen again noting the utter disaster it all was. "Boy can't even pick up after himself." He reached for a rag and cranked up the faucet; might as well kill time while Alfred was gone. Cleaning wasn't exactly at the top of his fun things to do list, but it was something to kill both time and his overly thinking mind. Besides, after being used to living on such neatly organized conditions, the place made him shiver out of sheer disgust. He mentally hoped for Alfred to have a vacuum, since he was quite sure the carpet wasn't supposed to be that shade of off white.

All of that aside, after a good scrub down, Arthur briefly considered making some proper use to the kitchen. Judging by the brief glance in the refrigerator and cabinets he was quite sure Alfred had a thing or two worth making. Not that he'd cook a full blown meal, but perhaps a light snack that would do well on both their stomachs.

Sticking his hands in the suds, he began his cleaning escapades.

* * *

On the other side of the door, it had taken Alfred half a moment to get his mind working again. His grin came back at full force as he punched the air, triumph stepping on the awkwardness of the past hour or so. Sweet progress. Before going off on his merry way though, he quickly pressed a kiss to his fingertips and, after making sure there was no one around to see him, pressed them to the door in a silent _'be right back'_.

Elizaveta had been right. He had fallen, and it had been harder than he had ever dared to admit. That wasn't to say that he was too fond of the entire _being in love with someone of the same sex _thing but he was working on that. His friend had told him that it was nothing to be ashamed of, that love was love regardless of age and gender. All night long he had lain wide awake, staring at the ceiling and wrapped comfortably in his plush sheets, waging a war with himself. It had reached a point where he had even called his father for advice, but got no answer except for the voicemail.

Of course Arthur was stubborn. He had been hurt and trampled and emotionally abused; things weren't about to get easier. It's not that Alfred wanted to push things on him, such as breaking up with his no good boyfriend, but throughout his life, he had come to learn that maybe what you did need was a small push in the right direction. He was nervous and scared and terribly insecure, no use denying it; he was walking into unknown territory, but he wasn't the type to just back down without trying a couple of times. Fuck, if he had to get past the whole being gay denial, then he'd make damn sure Arthur got over the denial of whatever it was he was denying.

The biting cold once he got outside made him curl into himself, nearly breaking into a jog as he made his way down the street to get to his car. He rarely used the thing, opting in moving around on his motorcycle due to the constant heavy traffic, but it still came in handy for long rides and particularly cold days. Plus, it saved him money on gas. Times were rough. The streets we busy as usually, and he airily waved at the guy standing over by the magazine stand with a smile before getting in his car. Not exactly the most inconspicuous thing in the neighborhood, but he dealt with it.

Arthur's apartment was located somewhere in Chelsea, up 22nd Street to be a bit more exact. He had a bit of trouble remembering exactly which one it was, his sense of direction being a bit thrown off by the argument before he had left. Along with the fact that nearly all the places looked the same. After driving up and down the same street three times, Alfred gave Arthur a call and double parked in front of the desired building. The clock on his dashboard told him it was half past eleven so he'd have to speed up his search for his temporary roommate's personal belongings.

The street lamps flooded the near desolate streets, naught but a few cars parked along the clean sidewalks and neatly trimmed bushes. Not having Arthur around to absorb his attention, Alfred could cast a look around, taking in the surroundings for a brief moment. It seemed like a quiet, down to earth neighbor, something that struck him as very… Arthur-ish. He would venture so far as to call it cute. "Kind of boring, too." Twisting his nose, he made his way up the walkway into the building. Then it all began to come back to him. The corner of his lips twisted up at the flood of memories that place held, a place he had only been to once, but it had been enough to change his life.

Up the stairs and two halls later, Alfred stood before Arthur's door in a moment's hesitation. He had no idea what he was about to find in there. What if he was indeed a serial killer? Like Jack the Ripper? Slipping in the keys, he gripped the doorknob tighter than was necessary. Jack the Ripper was from England too, wasn't he? Shaking his head free of the thoughts, he pushed the door open to find… a perfectly clean and normal apartment.

"More boring. How can this guy live?" Shutting the door behind him, he set off to work without much dillydallying.

It wasn't hard finding Arthur's bedroom whose décor was surprisingly chic for the stuffy old jerk. The trendy Italian furniture and tasteful paintings on his wall, a desktop computer on the far end cluttered with papers and folders and the like. The bed was small though, too small for Alfred's taste. Hell, he was sure his feet would hang off the edge of that thing.

Back to business.

Opening the only sliding doors in the bedroom, he found himself faced with Arthur's wardrobe, his jaw nearly dropping in complete stupefaction. "Fucking hell!" Alfred found himself wondering if Arthur was in fact some sort of designer trying to hide behind the business façade. His wardrobe was just _incredible_. From suits in all colors to low-cut jeans, the Englishman had a little bit of everything. Alfred dove into the large space, eyes wide in astonishment as he went through the articles of clothing, trying hard not to imagine Arthur in any of it. So maybe they weren't designer, but damn, he had a serious sense for fashion. So much in fact, that Alfred felt entirely smitten by that one red coat at the end of the rack.

"Why doesn't he wear these? I mean _sweater vests_?" Pulling out a peculiar looking pair of pants, Alfred whistled, too impressed with what he was seeing. At that moment he was sure he'd gladly give up his left arm in order to see Arthur in those. "It even has chains!" He immediately matched it with a leather jacket and a stripped blue and white shirt. "Now this is hot." Completely disregarding the items on the list, Alfred made sure to carefully pick out a whole new set of clothing. Nothing too over the top, but something that would wipe any random bystander off their feet.

Time ticked on as the American continued to dance about the room, picking up an exaggerated amount of clothing and placing them on the neatly made bed. He did obey the selection of shoes and socks Arthur had told him, since they matched with most of things he would take. Reaching out for his notepad, he checked out the articles already in hand. Next mission would be… underwear. "This is going to be interesting."

Having been too flustered by the request, Arthur had failed to tell him exactly where he kept them. And so his search began. Alfred rummaged through the main armoire and found nothing but casual shorts and tank tops. Summer wear, apparently. Perhaps that's why he kept them in drawers in the first place. When he did find it, he punched the air with a hissed 'yes' and set out to pulling the small articles. Alfred's first thought was the fact that Arthur must have been much skinnier than he looked to be able to fit in those. He made absolutely sure to bring along those neatly folded Union Jack ones with a smirk, if only just for laughs.

Alfred stopped for a moment as he looked down at what seemed to be innocent looking black underwear, but a grin slowly crept up as he neatly folded them and placed it among the rest. He made sure to exit that area quickly, unwilling to fall into the creepy stalker category. He also ignored the small bottle of lubricant tucked all the way in the back.

In the end, it didn't exactly take him as long as he had expected. Two trips to his car and a sandwich curtesy of Arthur's refrigerator later, and he was neatly settled in his warm car, ready to set home and get some much deserved sleep. Until he remembered what had to be about the most important thing on that list.

Arthur's tea.

With a groan, Alfred slugged out of the car and back into large place. Dragging his feet into the kitchen, he reached for the sealed box of tea and shoved it in his coat, not caring if the box ended up damaged throughout travesty. For a fleeting moment, blue eyes landed on a travel brochure and he gingerly picked it up, only to drop it almost instantly. "France. Who the hell would want to go to France?" He twisted his nose in slight disgust, irritation slipping in through the cracks as he was reminded of his not so loving father. "Asshole." Dismissing the though altogether, Alfred quickly made his way back to his car and drove right for home, musing at what Arthur's reaction might be.

Maybe he could get something to eat on the way there.

* * *

"Artie, I'm ho—!" Alfred choked on the last word when something constricted his windpipe, making him turn back into the hallway to cough it off, desperately grasping at his chest. "What the fuck?" Pulling the front of his jacket over his nose while struggling with the stack of clothing and heat on his free arm, he tried again. This time, it was his eyes that widened in shocked disbelief.

He wondered in carefully, only to stop in his tracks when Arthur called from the other room. "Shoes off by the door, Alfred." He did as he was told.

Blue eyes looked around curiously as he padded over to the living room, thankfully stretching out his toes as he did so, and placed all that he was holding on top of the freakishly clean couch. He knew he'd be able to bring it all in just one trip, but that was beside the point. His place was _clean_. Cleaner than it had ever been since he had first moved in. "You did this in just two hours?"

Walking into the same room that Alfred was in, sleeves rolled up, a pair of yellow gloves on and a Clorox pump in hand, Arthur shrugged. "An hour and a half actually. Took a slight break after scrubbing the sink, my chest felt like it was about to burst." With a satisfied smile, he chanced a general look around the apartment. "You're going to need a new vacuum soon, even if this one seems like it's been barely used much. Twenty minutes a day, that's all you need to at least pick up after yourself. Avoid this disaster you call home."

"You didn't have to do this you know." Alfred said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head somewhat embarrassed. He was in a hurry and at work when he had gotten Arthur's call; perfect excuse.

"If I'm to stay here I don't intend on wallowing in such a disorganized atmosphere." Setting the bottle of Clorox down and pulling off his gloves, Arthur discreetly sniffed the air, his stomach suddenly rumbling, reminding him of how hungry he was. It had been his intention to cook for the both of them that evening, but he had lost track of time entirely. Instead, he stated the obvious. "I smell pizza."

Alfred perked up instantly. "Hell yeah! I got a pie on the way home, hope you don't mind. Figured you'd probably be hungry." Moving the mound of clothing to the side, he pulled out a white box with a thumbs up. "Aren't I the greatest?" What wasn't so great was the burn he now had on his forearm, something that had come from his attempt at balancing the hot box and stack of clothing in one arm in order to avoid taking two trips. It wasn't because he was lazy; it was just too cold to go back outside.

With a scoff, Arthur took the box from his hands and placed it on the recently waxed counter. "Yes, yes of course. If anything gets dirty, you clean it." Alfred gave him a halfhearted salute while reaching for a slice, his mouth watering as he bit into the greasy goodness. He picked up what sounded like a vague moan coming from Arthur, making him grin around his next bite. Nothing could ever beat New York pizza.

Eventually they migrated back into the living room, Arthur sitting neatly on the floor while Alfred laid spread out on the couch, eating pizza and enjoying old Star Trek reruns in comfortable silence. He had convinced Arthur into checking the clothing he had brought later, that he needed to just sit back, relax and enjoy his evening. And that he did.

After a long mentally challenging day, it felt good to just spend some time in good company, even if the clock struck two in the morning and Alfred would have to be up in less than five hours to take a Biology exam. He wouldn't have changed that moment for anything, as he idly lowered his arm to absently toy with Arthur's hair. A gesture the other didn't bother to swat away be it because he was too engrossed in the current episode or, if the way he leaned into the touch was of any indication, enjoyed it.

"Thank you." Arthur couldn't help but let his mind wander, even if the current episode was rather amusing and had taken much of his attention. He had things to think about and decisions to make, and being the over-thinker that he was, he was quite sure his mind wouldn't be at ease until then. Instead, he thanked the young man for his kindness and patience; two traits that were so hard to come by nowadays.

The nails that were softly scratching his scalp came to a stop, smoothening out to run through the loose locks instead. A warm gesture, nearly loving. Alfred smiled down at the man who was still too stubborn to look him in the eye and sighed softly, feeling happy with everything. Nothing mystical, no fireworks, no overwhelming feelings of heartfelt devotion. Alfred just felt happy.

"Anytime, Arthur."

"You still need to clean the kitchen."

With a snort, he made sure to shove the Englishman's head playfully, giggling when the other turned to shoot him a deadly glare. A glare that melted away into a small insecure smile.

And all was good.

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_To be Continued._

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**A/N: **_I just wanted to tell everyone **thank you so very much**! One hundred faves and seventy-five reviews so far… this is just **amazing**! This is also the longest chapter yet, with a whopping 7600 words. As you can see, we're finally getting to the more USUK concentrated areas, which is about time, so keep expecting these rather speedy updates. Thank you for sticking along all this time!_


	11. Chapter 11

_Falling in Love in New York City_

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CHAPTER 11

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There had never been a time, at least that he could remember, when Alfred had to quite literally roll out of bed, sluggishly kicking his legs in order to untangle himself from their cozy grasp. One hour; he had gotten just one hour of sleep and at that moment, no matter how wonderful the night before had been, he understood that it just wasn't worth it. Fun with Arthur be damned, he needed his beauty sleep. He could already hear the disapproving grunts from his modeling instructor the moment she got a load of the bags under his eyes. It probably would have been wiser to just stay up all the way through.

Twenty minutes later, he sat up on the bed, rubbing at his eyes as his head continued to loll back and forth with the permanent drowsiness he was sure to host for the rest of the day.

With much effort, Alfred managed to stumble onto his feet, sway a bit, before heading off into the general direction of his bathroom. Although the apartment was rather cold, he paid no heed as he made his way across, shirtless; somewhat hoping that it would help fend off the sleep that continued to stubbornly ebb its way in. It hadn't made that much a difference as he lazily scratched at his belly, smacking his lips in an attempt to will the morning breath away. It was going to be one hell of a long day.

As far as obliviousness went, Arthur was shocked that the American had waltzed all the way across the kitchen and hadn't even noticed him standing there with a steaming cup of coffee in hand. He decided against making his presence known. Instead, he opted to ogle the tussled bed head, hair sticking up in awkward angles. He found that, as much as he liked how Alfred looked without his glasses, he'd much rather see him wearing them. Without the spectacles, Alfred's youth was too obvious to ignore. It screamed high school; and it made Arthur rather sick to his stomach.

As for Alfred, not even a freezing cold shower was enough to get him fully awake, much to his dismay. He honestly wished he could just bail and do something fun, after catching a few hours of sleep that is. With Arthur spending his time in his apartment, he could think of a thing or two to do. Like that date he had promised himself a few days ago, or was that the day before? Lost nights and disorientation, just what he needed.

A good teeth brush later, he combed back his wet hair and slipped on the pair of jeans he always kept in his bathroom for the sake of emergencies. Another day to face, and an overwhelming one at that. Arthur made him nervous all over even when he kept his cool, but this was something entirely different from the coffee house 'dates'. He was a guest. "Damn it."

"Alfred?" There was a knock on the bathroom door. "You may come out whenever you like. Your coffee is about to get cold."

"You made me coffee?" Said door was yanked open without warning, making Arthur nearly stumble onto the freshly bathed American. A freshly bathed American who smelled utterly refreshing. Arthur would have liked to admit that the first thing he noticed was how bright Alfred looked first thing in the morning, even if he looked about to pass out, but if he were to be completely honest, he'd have to say his eyes wandered directly to his hair. The usually neatly combed hair was pulled back for the exception of that somewhat charming cowlick, and it made Alfred look all the more dashing.

Second thing he noticed was his glistening washboard chest. But that was beside the point.

"I didn't necessarily make it for you. After an all-nighter I needed some caffeine." Arthur scowled at him as he pushed himself off the wall, making his way back into the kitchen, taking a seat at the small table. A newspaper rested near his mug.

"Didn't you hate coffee?"

"Not my drink of choice, but I can bare it."

Alfred followed, rubbing the remaining bits of sleep from his eyes. The makeup department was going to have to do wonders once he dropped by; he'd probably skip last period so he could come back and get some shut eyes and call Marco to cover for him again. At this rate he feared for his job. "Coffee's good. I make good coffee."

"I wouldn't expect otherwise from a barista." Smiling at Arthur, Alfred took a sip from his mug, immediately turning his nose and how stupidly bitter the thing tasted. "Alfred?"

"I wouldn't expect otherwise from someone who only makes tea.—Tastes like shit with a dash of concrete."

* * *

Alfred was sure there was a huge bruise beneath his mop of hair the size of Texas from where Arthur hit him with a decorative rock of some kind after his little wiseass comment. It was true, however. Arthur could be good at other things… none of which he could name… but making a decent cup of coffee wasn't one of his fortes. He'd have to take the coffee making duties into his own hands; which was the obvious thing to do considering his line of duty. That aside, it was nice of him, yeah, but now he was both ready to fall asleep at any given moment and about to gag his toast.

The rest of the day went uneventful. Test aside, he spent lunch break with the guys and an over-excited Elizaveta who came too close for comfort when she decided to mention their late night conversation a matter of days ago. His instructor did flip her lid and sounded off on the responsibilities of being a model and how much of a poor example Alfred was to the whole class—and it was during History that his eyes began to droop shut, missing half the lecture on Alexander the Great. Without hesitating, he excused himself with the rest of his crew and made his way back to his apartment in record speed. That didn't stop him from thinking on the way back. And he thought about a lot of things, most of which made me sigh dreamily like the teenager he was.

It was Friday night, Arthur was crashing at his place, and the fact that he wanted to get back and sleep kind of put him off. He was known for his boundless energy and to just give up on a weekend night was against his own personal religion. Maybe all he needed was a cup of coffee, a proper one, and he could run for another few hours, take Arthur out on that date he had thought about and show the guy a good time. He looked like he needed it. Plus it gave them the time to talk about whatever it was that had happened in the airport. Sounded like a plan.

Alfred made sure to call Marco and explain the dilemma, being completely honest with him about what was what. His coworker wasn't ecstatic about the idea of working double shifts, but being the nice guy he was, he cut the kid some slack. It would come and bite Alfred on the ass later, Marco was the master of payback, but he was grateful for the chance.

The backup energy reserve decided to kick in then, sending him into a mode so hyper he didn't really understand where the hell it came from, but he rode it out. Whenever his body decided to crash later on, it was going to be ugly, but until then he was going to ride the adrenaline rush and do what he had to do. Fishing for his phone, he called up the Brit boy wonder. Alfred let the phone ring till it went to voicemail, did so four times in a row while furrowing his brow. Maybe Arthur was napping, being the old man he was. He pocketed his phone again and figured he'd surprise him when he arrived home instead.

* * *

Arthur leaned against the window of Alfred's trendy apartment in a pair of fluffy slippers, cup of tea nestled warmly against his cold hands. It was his fifth cup that day as he tried to fight the urge to pop in a cigarette again; he had gone through a quarter of a box already. Stress levels were through the roof again, high enough to tip the balance of his earlier decision, forcing him to weigh them again and finally choose. He had thought he made the correct one when he chose to leave, but the transition of that internal monologue to where he was currently standing was enough to tip his entire world on its axis. Maybe he was somehow meant to be with Alfred—the magnificently infuriating American that made his days just a little bit brighter. Not that he'd ever admit to it aloud. Alfred's innocently bright eyes promised him a new beginning, fresh and unknown but maybe that was exactly what he needed.

His heart always nudged in his chest whenever he got a load of that brilliant smile and warm hands. So what if he was young, it wasn't anything new. Couples with significant age differences were all the rage nowadays. He could see himself falling in love and dating without wanting to pummel his partner to the ground. He could also see Alfred leaving him as the years progressed, the young and vibrant model leaving the old man behind because he was cramping his style.

He grabbed another cigarette. No matter what he thought or chose, there would always be those possibilities. Nothing lasts forever, not even true love.

"Pull yourself together, you old sod. One step at a time."

Scenario after scenario played in his head. So many outcomes, good and bad though mostly murderous… but he had to do what he had to do. Tango was not meant for three, Arthur noted. As long as either Francis or Alfred was there, he'd continue to dance in heels that would impede any proper advancement in his life, leaving his feet too bloodied and wounded to walk on. Someone had to be cut out of the equation for it to work. In Arthur's head, it was clear who that someone had to be.

It was probably stupid. Maybe he was relying on false hopes, but at this point in time desperation meant nothing anymore. He was done pretending and relying on someone who just viewed him as some sort of sick trophy of adventures past. If he ended up alone, then so be it. He could always fly back home and live beneath the London Bridge.

Drawing his phone, he found two missed calls from Francis, probably wondering why he hadn't arrived yet. He called back, wincing at how terrible his bill will be once it came in; he briefly wondered why he never bothered with long distance. To no surprise, it went right to voicemail. Probably had no reception, wherever he was.

_"__Hello,__you__have__reached__the__voice__inbox__of__Mr.__Bonnefoy.__I__am__not__able__to__answer__right__now__but__do__leave__a__message__detailing__your__situation__and__what__you__'__re__wearing__beneath__your__clothing__after__the__tone.__"_ Arthur deadpanned, his mind automatically translating the French message into English, something he instinctively did whenever the bastard ranted in his native language.

He took a deep breath. No hesitating; that would only make him chicken out.

"Francis, it's Arthur. I do hope you landed safely and that you had a pleasant flight—now enough with the pleasantries. I would much have preferred to tell you this in your presence, but our current predicament impedes it, so a message would have to do. Also, I probably would have caved your face in but that's beside the point." Arthur stopped for a moment, took a drag and walked into the kitchen. "These past few months have been, without doubt, the worst in my life. In fact, no, that's a lie. They haven't been that bad—I've clearly been through worse… but where you are concerned, you distasteful frog, hell pales in comparison." He stubbed out the cigarette and leaned against the counter, a smirk now tugging at his lips.

For a brief moment, the thought of getting fired crossed his mind but he pushed it right back down. He wasn't going to let anything derail him from his decision to end it. His sanity just wasn't worth being put on the line again. "Since you have outdone yourself with your chivalrous deeds and warming gestures, due note the heavy sarcasm I am implying here, I would like to inform you that I am done." A shaky sigh, a hand pressed against his face and Arthur could feel the fear bubbling in his chest. But he wasn't going to stop. "I am done. Saying it was a pleasure to be your partner would be a blatant lie, and some of us may be flawless liars but I sure as hell am not." With that, he slammed the phone shut.

Arthur's heart nearly stopped when the phone began to vibrate immediacy, but it was a relief to see it was only Alfred's number. He didn't pick up. Once it was done, he called Francis again. Voicemail. "I forgot to mention that I apologize for saying these things over a message, it's not a very gentlemanly thing to do, I'm aware. But manners and etiquette is left for those who deserve them and are equally polite and respectful in turn—not little fuckers like you." Hanging up again, he gave a sigh, a small shout that he couldn't really describe and slumped against the counter. He wasn't ready to talk yet, not trusting his voice as Alfred called again and he let it go to voicemail for the fourth time.

Emotionally drained didn't even begin to describe how he felt at that very moment. It hadn't been as hard as he thought it would be, getting the words out. He admits that it was a rather cowardly move of him to do so in a message, but sometime's it was the only way to get things done. And it was _done_. Arthur was free. And he didn't feel any different. No birds chirping to express joy, no fireworks… the amount of let downs was incredible by then. But he noticed how easy it was to breathe now. The eternal knot that tied in his throat whenever he thought about the situation was gone; it was still sore, but it was gone.

Maybe, just maybe, things would begin to brighten up.

The front door slammed open, startling Arthur to a point that he nearly knocked over a china set he had been cleaning earlier for his tea. Alfred burst through the door; grin ridiculously wide and bright and absolutely… crazed. He jogged across the living room and directly into the kitchen, coming oh so close to hugging the startled Englishman.

"Arthur!"

"You bloody idiot! You scared the living daylights out of me!" To prove the point, Arthur clenched his chest, blinking rapidly. He didn't deny it, some irrational part of his brain expect to see Francis bursting through that door with bloody murder written in his eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be in class, you overgrown buffoon?"

"Finished early."

"How—"

"Let's go out." Alfred wouldn't let Arthur finish, hands waving all over the place like a kid on Christmas. He was running on high and he wasn't going to wait for his brain and body to finally catch up with the exhaustion. "You and me, let's go out to eat or shop or something."

Arthur looked at him questioningly before glancing at the clock above the stove. "It's not even three o'clock yet."

"So? The night is young!"

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Do I ever?"

That one got an honest to God laugh out of Arthur. "True enough." He hesitated then, slid his phone inside his pant pocket wearily as he looked long and hard at the jumpy American across from him. With each slow blink he tried to analyze the situation to no end, his mind too bothered to make sense of anything. In the end, Arthur nodded and turned on his heels figuring that popping a blood vessel wouldn't solve a thing. "Let me shower and slip into something decent. Anywhere specific?"

"Coney Island." Making a beeline for the fridge, Alfred made sure he reached for the most sugar loaded soda can he could find. "You gotta try the corndogs, man. And the French fries are the best! Don't even get me started on the footlongs—"

"We're driving up to Brooklyn to _eat_." Arthur sounded insulted even to himself. He was half expecting some metro trendy restaurant like the one's Francis would take him to in the Manhattan area.

_ New beginnings, Arthur. Suck it up._

Alfred was unfazed by his tone of voice. "There are rides, too. The boardwalk is real pretty and stuff." He walked over to drop himself on the couch, turning on the television to let Arthur take his time getting groomed like the businessman he was. "I don't know, we can go somewhere else if you want." Arthur could hear the petulance even with his back turned towards him.

With a sigh, Arthur grabbed the most casual of clothing Alfred had brought over from his apartment and made for the bathroom. "Coney Island is fine. Be out in twenty."

Resisting the urge to punch the air, Alfred settled for a grin while he tuned into some show about two guys killing monsters who drove a really sweet muscle car. He half noted that he could easily see himself getting hooked on the program before shouting over his shoulder, "Take your time. Don't want any broken hips."

At the same time some red haired lady appeared in the backseat of their car, causing the driver to swivel momentarily, Arthur yelled back with something unintelligible. Sounded something like _bloody__idiot_; then again, it could just be some word affiliation kicking into gear since Arthur always said that as a comeback.

Once the credits rolled and Arthur was still in the shower, Alfred figured he might as well go get ready himself. If this was going to be their first date, he wanted to make sure he made the best impression. Or, well, _not_ date. Since Arthur was still bitchy on the whole subject. Either way, Alfred was armed and ready to make the stodgy Brit swoon with his all American charm.

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_**AN**_: Did you miss me? No, guys, I am not dead. I just took a longer than necessary hiatus with overall fic writing. Along with life, a new fandom and everything else I kind of… fell behind on updates. But worry not! I'm not dropping this baby any time soon. Consider this your early Christmas present! Thank you for everyone who's been so kind and left such wonderful reviews, it seriously means a lot. ~ So, again, have an early Merry Christmas! To those who celebrate it, anyways. ;D


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